The Unthinkable: Step 60

When you get to junior high school some things that were considered to be relevant and fun in elementary school suddenly lose their relevance and if you participate in them thinking that they’re still fun your peers don’t want to be seen with you. One of these things is scouting. Wearing a uniform, earning merit badges, going on campouts just wasn’t hip when I was at Samuel Morse. So, I just told my friends who weren’t in the troop I was going camping or swimming, or hanging with some other friends. Which was true, just that whatever I happened to be doing was a boy scout event. Fortunately, for me there was one other guy at Samuel Morse who shared my enthusiasm for scout life and partnered with me in this clandestine activity. His name was Byron G. III, but since his dad was already junior he was simply known as Buzzy. On an early spring day, somewhere around the middle of April, during a weekend camping trip to a wooded area with a small lake Buzzy was the one who dared me to go in the water with him. The air temperature may have been unusually warm, perhaps in the seventies, but Wisconsin lakes, even small ones take their time thawing out between winter and summer. Our skin was immediately covered with millions of goose bumps and our feet as well as our lips took on a beautiful blue hue after our ninety-second emersion. Buzzy was not a mid-year student, and so was a semester behind me in school, but he had twice the confidence, especially when it came to girls. In our tent, after lights out when we were supposed to be silent, Buzz told me about how he had convinced Bernadette to let him touch her breast. Before he told me about how he was kissing her and promised her he would always be true and never tell anyone else about it, he made me promise not to say a word to Tony, our mutual friend and her brother. Actually, Buzzy should be proud of me, because until now I had never shared his story with another soul. Another thing I am pretty sure is true, is Buzz was the first person to call Mr. Ellner, our scoutmaster, Elmo. Unlike other scout leaders, who were usually the parent of one of the scouts, Elmo was a twenty-something who had completed his tour of duty in the Navy and wanted to give back to the organization that had kept him out of trouble and in school. Going over the hills on the way to Friess Lake in his Impala SS with four on the floor and rock and roll blasting was one of the main reasons I took a chance on someone finding out I was still in scouts. My best guess is he didn’t like the nickname but wanted to hang onto as many kids who were in junior high for as long as they’d stay and figured letting them call him Elmo was a small price to pay. He was also the one who explained how serious it was when Buzzy got sick, while our parents didn’t have any explanations. Leukemia was something I had not heard about before, and unfortunately it would be something that would impact my life again in only a half dozen more years. No one is supposed to die at thirteen. There isn’t much I remember about the funeral except Danny, who worked with Dad and was Buzzy’s uncle came over to the house after the service. As we were talking the walls seemed to be moving and my legs became wobbly. Mom had me sit down and said I was probably just starting to feel the impact of what had taken place. Quite honestly, I still feel the impact.