The Goal

98

She smiles. "You mean it?"

"Sure, if it doesn't work, we can talk about it," I say. "Deal?"

"Deal," she says.

I lean toward her and ask, "Want to seal it with a handshake or a kiss?"

She comes around the table and sits on my lap and kisses me.

"You know, I sure missed you last night," I tell her.

"Did you?" she says. "I really missed you too. I had no idea singles bars could be so depressing."

"Singles bars?"

"It was Jane's idea," she says. "Honest."

I shake my head. "I don't want to hear about it."

"But Jane showed me some new dance steps," she says. "And maybe this weekend-"

I give her a squeeze. "If you want to do something this week- end, baby, I'm all yours."

"Great," she says and whispers in my ear, "You know, it's Friday, so... why don't we start early?"

She kissed me again.

And I say, "Julie, I'd really love to, but..."

"But?"

"I really should check in at the plant," I say.

She stands up. "Okay, but promise me you'll hurry home tonight."

"Promise," I tell her. "Really, it's going to be a great week- end."

I open my eyes Saturday morning to see a drab green blur. The blur turns out to be my son, Dave, dressed in his Boy Scout uniform. He is shaking my arm.

"Davey, what are you doing here?" I ask.

He says, "Dad, it's seven o'clock!"

"Seven o'clock? I'm trying to sleep. Aren't you supposed to be watching television or something?"

"We'll be late," he says.

"We will be late? For what?"

"For the overnight hike!" he says. "Remember? You prom- ised me I could volunteer you to go along and help the troop- master."

I mutter something no Boy Scout should ever hear. But Dave isn't fazed.

"Come on. Just get in the shower," he says, as he pulls me out of bed. "I packed your gear last night. Everything's in the car already. We just have to get there by eight."

I manage a last look at Julie, her eyes still shut, and the warm soft mattress as Davey drags me through the door.

An hour and ten minutes later, my son and I arrive at the edge of some forest. Waiting for us is the troop: fifteen boys out- fitted in caps, neckerchiefs, merit badges, the works.

Before I have time to say, "Where's the troopmaster?", the other few parents who happen to be lingering with the boys take off in their cars, all pedals to the metal. Looking around, I see that I am the only adult in sight.

"Our troopmaster couldn't make it," says one of the boys.

"How come?"

"He's sick," says another kid next to him.

"Yeah, his hemorrhoids are acting up," says the first. "So it looks like you're in charge now."

"What are we supposed to do, Mr. Rogo?" asks the other kid.

Well, at first I'm a little mad at having all this foisted upon me. But then the idea of having to supervise a bunch of kids doesn't daunt me-after all, I do that every day at the plant. So I gather everyone around. We look at a map and discuss the objec- tives for this expedition into the perilous wilderness before us.