Smelling the Sky
A story of new friends, eager enemies, and two hungry tigers 
By Ben Clabaugh

Episode I

PROLOGUE 

Eleven-year old David Fuller stood on the lowest, largest branch of the oak tree, one hand braced against the trunk, and gazed out through the immense boughs, over the houses across the street, seeing only the azure blue of Caribbean waters and tall, billowing, anvil-topped clouds off to the west – harbingers of rough sailing ahead.  Just as the cry of “Ship ahoy,” came down from the crow’s nest one hundred feet above, he spotted the dark outline of a galleon emerging from the leeward side of the nearby tropical island.  Through his spyglass, Captain David could just make out the flag - a skeleton on a field of black, an hourglass in one hand, a spear pointing toward a heart dripping blood in the other.  Blackbeard.  Captain David loosened the saber in his belt.  The crown was running from this scum no longer. 

“Hard a-port, prepare the cannon.  Time for some action Mates,” Captain David bellowed. 

“Watch me, Davie, watch me!”

His attention wrenched from the sea, David looked down from the branches of the oak tree with annoyance at his little sister Janie.      

“Ya watchin’?” she cried.  She stood in the strip of grass between the sidewalk and the street under the wide boughs of the tree.  He glanced briefly at her as she tried some inexplicable feat of gymnastics, somewhere between a cart-wheel and crawling on all fours, he couldn’t tell which. 

He shifted his stance on the largest low branch of the tree and gazed outward.  His vision shimmered and the quiet, tree-lined suburban street became, once again, the shining azure of the Caribbean.

Puffs of smoke appeared down the length of the Blackbeard’s ship followed seconds later great gouts of water torn from the sea fifty yards from the hull of David’s ship.  They were still too far away, but not for long.  He would wait until they got closer so his cannon would be more effective. 

“Davie!” Janie wailed then crunched her face into an eerie imitation of their mother’s sternest look.  She put her hands on her hips and waggled a tiny finger at him. 

“Mommy said for you to watch me, I heard it, and you’re not watching me!  Now, watch, see what I can do?”  Resignedly, he sat down on the branch, “Fine, go ahead,” he said.

She tried her cartwheel/crawl again, only this time got her feet higher than normal.  Her little-girl skirt dropped down over her head and her elbows buckled.  With a squeal, she went down hard on her shoulder and side.  It looked painful.  If she hurt herself, David’d be in big trouble.  Expecting an ear shattering wail – usually a precursor to long bouts of dishwashing, leaf raking, driveway sealing (depending on the season) as punishment for some dereliction of responsibility or something - David leapt down  and ran over to her.  As he got to her side, she sat up, brushed the hair from her face, primly pushed her skirt back down over her legs, then thrust her arms triumphantly into the air cried, “Ta Daaaa!”

“Dammit Janie, you’re gonna get me in trouble,” Davie exclaimed.  “Now cut it out.” 

Janie’s eyes became round and huge, she extended her pointer finger toward him as she noisily sucked in a big breath, “Ummmmmm…..You said bad word.  Mommy’s gonna wash your mouth out with soap…You said a bad word….Ummmmmm!”

David stifled a grin, too late.  Janie saw it and giggled.  Then, a sly look crept across her face.  She looked toward the house, then blurted, “Dammit!” and collapsed to the ground, giggling.

David spun around, making sure no one had seen or heard.  He looked down at his little sister as she rolled on the ground clutching her stomach, her face alight with unrepressed glee. 

“Come on,” he said half-heartedly.  “You really are gonna get me in trouble.”

He wanted to be mad at her, knew he should be mad at her.  Despite himself, he felt a grin building behind his cheeks and turned to hide it from her.  Her high pitched, tinkling laughter always had that effect on him.  To him, it was the happiest sound in the world. 

“Keep trying.  I’ll watch from up here,” he said, trying to sound authoritative. 

He stomped back to the tree, still pretending to be mad.  Sure, she always wanted to tag along with him and his friends, and she was incapable of being quiet – if she was around, he knew he could forget about getting away with anything.  But he was, after all, her big brother, and it was his job to watch out for her. 

He reached up over his head, grabbed the lowest branch and hoisted himself back onto his perch, ready to spring the trap on the enemy. 

Janie had arisen and was step-skipping across an imaginary hopscotch grid.  She got the far side of the driveway, landed on two feet, and threw her arms into the air with a breathless, “TA DAAAA.”

David watched her, smiling, but he no longer felt happy.  Something was wrong.  She had to move, to come back under the tree.

He opened his mouth to call her back, but his voice was drowned out by the screech of tires on asphalt and the roar of an engine. 

No, David thought, panic building inside him.  Not again.  No!

He tried to yell, but no sound came from his throat.  He tried to jump down from the tree, but his feet would not move. 

Wake up! He pleaded.  He couldn’t take watching it, yet again.  WAKE UP!

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the grill of the truck, then the faded-blue quarter panel shot past.  The tires screeched again as the truck veered sharply toward her as if hunting her out. 

Janie!  He tried to warn her, but his throat felt stuffed with prickly cotton.

Nooooo! He cried in a hoarse whisper.  He pushed, trying with all his might to call out to her.  His voice sounded as if it came from far away.  The truck bore down on his sister.  He was getting his voice back, but too late.

“No!” he shouted bolting upright in his bed.  He glanced around his darkened bedroom, then collapsed back and buried his face in his pillow. 

It had been almost a year since his little sister, Janie, had died but the frequent nightmares helped to keep his memory of what happened - and why - remain fresh and clear.  Memories of it flooded his mind in fresh, sharp clarity.    Since then, he’d grown accustomed to being alone.  His so-called friends back home in Chicago just couldn’t seem to stop talking about it, pestering him with all kinds of stupid questions until he just couldn’t stand being around them.    Even his parents couldn’t give it a rest, continually trying to get him to talk, sending him to shrink after shrink, claiming he needed to “talk about it.”  He knew they blamed him.  He could see it in their eyes every time they turned around expecting to see her, but saw only him, instead.  

It was his fault.  He knew that, but he’d die before giving them the satisfaction of admitting it. 
 

 PART I

CHAPTER 1

David stared out through the kitchen window across the pasture to the deep green of the tree line beyond.  Heat shimmers arising from the yellow grass made the trees appear to bump and sway.  With a sigh, he shifted his gaze to the yard next door, to the boy kneeling in the grass staring intently at the ground. 

According to his mom, the kid’s name was Shelton, he was twelve, like David, and he was ‘Just Darling.’

Yeah, just darling, David thought.  What kind of name was ‘Shelton’ anyway?  David thought.

 And what did it take for his mom to call you ‘Darling?’

He watched Shelton slowly reach out, pluck something from the grass between his thumb and forefinger, then drop it gently in front of him. 

David leaned forward, resting with his elbows on the edge of the sink and sighed.  The clock perched on the window sill read nine o’clock.  That would make it ten o’clock back home, just about game time.  He pictured his old friends Tommy Greenbauer and Eric Lester pedaling down the street toward his old house back in Chicago, ball gloves dangling from their handlebars.  They had been his best friends, and summer had been their time.  He sighed again. 

Ever since moving, his mom had been pestering him to go out and make new friends.  David had  mentioned (unwisely, it turned out) that there  were no other kids on the street, she had forbidden him from riding his bike past the end of the street, and since she now worked all day, everyday, she certainly wasn’t able to take him anywhere to meet anyone.

His blurted question, “What am I supposed to do, just stand there by the road with my thumb out and hitch some friends?”  had cost him a week of duty washing dishes.   

He heard her talking on the phone, over and over, saying how guilty she felt leaving him alone all day and how she just wished he had some friends like he’d had back home.

Shoulda thought of that before we left, David thought, bitterly. 

Then she heard that the family moving in next door had a boy David’s age. 

“Oooooh, you’ll have so much fun.  I’m sure you’ll just be best friends,” she had gushed.  He thought she wouldn’t care if the kid pulled the legs off kittens or ate dog poop, just as long as she didn’t have to feel guilty anymore.     

David straightened and looked around.  The emptiness of the house made it seem much larger and almost….watchful.  With a sense of grim resolve he patted his leg, calling Pete up from his splay-legged slumber on the cool kitchen linoleum.  He squared his shoulders, stepped through the door, and walked across the yard. 

“Hey, uh, kid,” David said – he just couldn’t believe any kid would want to be called ‘Shelton.’  “What’cha doin’?” 

Shelton reached down, carefully selected a grain of dirt from the ground next to his knee, held it poised over the anthill for a moment then placed it gently down. 

“Helping,” he said.  He brushed his hand on his knee then looked up.  “My name is Shelton.  And yours is David,” he announced.   “And yours is Pete,” he said to the grinning Golden Retriever.  Then to David, said, “We already met.” Pete’s tail wagged.

You’re not kidding, David thought.  He had watched from his bedroom window the day before as Shelton and his parents had arrived in their moving truck.  David’s mom, followed by an enthusiastic Pete, stood waiting to greet them.  As his mom met Shelton’s parents, David watched, astounded and revolted, as Shelton knelt down on all fours to sniff Pete’s butt – and Pete sniffed Shelton’s, tail wagging at full speed! 

At dinner that night when David mentioned what he had seen as proof that there was something wrong with the kid, that maybe he was retarded and so probably not the best kid for David to spend his time with, his mom said he was being ridiculous.

Fine, David thought, I’ll go over there, meet the kid, and when he starts drooling all over the place or tries to eat my shoelaces, then we’ll see.

He patted his leg and clucked his tongue.  Pete returned to his side and sat, still grinning. 

He sure doesn’t sound retarded, David thought, but there was definitely something…. off about him.   He had a look on his face David found unsettling, almost like that of a little kid staring out a car window, pointing at everything and asking, “Whassat?”   

David would come to see that expression on Shelton’s face almost continually, whether he was ‘helping’, as he said, or getting pummeled on the playground at school. 

“Whaddya mean, helping?  Helping what?”

“The ants,” Shelton said. 

“Yeah?  My Dad pays me two bucks for every mound I get rid of from our yard,” David bragged.  “I just sprinkle this poison powder on ‘em and they go nuts!”

“No,” Shelton said, shaking his head, but still smiling.  David was already regretting his choice to come over.  He looked around, then stood.

“No, really,” he said. “So far I got ten bucks.”

“It’s okay,” Shelton murmured.  David could not tell if Shelton were addressing him or the ants. 

David looked around, at a loss. 

“Why not try a whole handful,” he ventured.  “It’ll go lots faster.”

Shelton slowly shook his head again.  “Not up to me,” he whispered.  He selected another grain and gently placed it near the crown of the little mound.  As his fingers opened, a large, fat red ant scrambled up onto Shelton’s knuckle and two more traversed the back of his hand. 

“Hey, watch out!” David cried, stepping back.  He’d accidentally stood on an anthill once before.  He would never forget the feel of the fiery stings marching their way inexorably up his legs.   It’d felt like he was being dipped slowly in an acid bath.

“It’s okay,” Shelton repeated without looking up.  He kept his hand where it was and laughed when several more climbed aboard, circled about, then crawled off. 

 That does it, David thought, his skin rippling with goose bumps.  I’m outta here!