My mom's old lamp, the one with the metal key switch, is on its highest setting. I'm in the guest bedroom instead of my own. The warm summer wind is making the white translucent curtains billow out like the sails of an old sloop. My nose is in a good-natured book, and it's not coming out anytime soon.
There's nothing wrong with my bedroom; arguably, it's the best room in the house. But tonight the guest bedroom, with its view of the pond, its big comfy bed, and its unseen history, called to me.
It's either midnight or one. I don't know because the little bedside clock in the
room is stuck on 7:34. That's my excuse for tomorrow. Mom will try to get me to wake up and will see how tired I am, but I can tell her that I went to sleep at 7:34. It's not a lie - just a different view of the truth.
And of course, I have an absolutely magnificent, sinfully big piece of key lime pie. Every so often, I'll pause in my reading and take a gluttonous bite of it.
Right now I pause in my book and look down at the paper plate. There's only a fork there and nothing else. With a gasp that my perfect scene has a gap missing, I dog-ear the page- page 216- and leap out of the bed with the plate and fork. I land on the ground and immediately notice its coolness. I barely notice the shiver that runs through me because I'm concentrating on the stairs. The stairs, when sneaking around my house, are the trickiest part. The banisters are like a minefield. You get near them, and they'll rattle. My mom has an after-dark radar in her; one sound and you might as well haul down your colors and surrender.
I take light, slow steps on the first half dozen, carefully stepping beside the wall. Not a sound. I grin and quickly tiptoe to the kitchen. It would be pitch dark if not for the moon slanting through the windows. The wood floor shines. My warm feet seem to stick to it as I run up to the key-lime pie. I decide that the last piece was too big. So I cut two smaller pieces and stack them both on the plate. I have to- as if pulled by something
turn to look at the beautiful moon. Unexpectedly a figure moves in the trees, large enough to startle me, and I freeze.
I squint harder and realize it's just Huey, our resident owl. I call him Huey
because he's built like one of those huge Huey helicopters in the Army. He's a great horned owl, and I barely ever see him. I watch him, and he stares back with
disinterested, scornful eyes. He has bars and spots on his breast and two great horns atop his orange-tinted face.
The only creature in this town with a worse temperament than Huey has just been caught sleeping in the fruit bowl on the counter, which might I add- is strictly off-limits. "Lucifer!" His fat spills over the edge, and I hiss his name again. "Lucifer! Get out of there- you're squishing the bananas!"
The ungainly cat looks up with disdain, but then his eyes open wide as he realizes who it is. He leaps out of the bowl and down to the floor with an ungraceful thud and nearly knocks over Ponderosa. For as much spite and cunning Lucifer has, Ponderosa has an equal amount of amiability and lovable stupidity. She's a tiny white kitten with blue-haze eyes. Lucifer is a dump truck of black fur with two half-dollar yellow eyes.
Ponderosa starts cheeping at me, and I put a finger to my lips. She cleans between the claws on one tiny paw. I take a bite of key lime pie and smile and throw my eyes up to heaven in ecstasy. I have sat up on the kitchen counter, dangling my legs, but now it's time to get back up to the warmth of the guest bedroom.
Going back up the stairs necessitates a totally different strategy- running like crazy. If you go fast enough and happen to make a sound, Mom will brush it off as nothing. Lucifer runs between my legs, and I whisper curses at his starched tail and wagging haunches. I climb into bed, and shivers follow until it has warmed me. Beneath the corner of page 218, I see Ponderosa wander in. Lucifer is preening on the windowsill; Ponderosa climbs up beside him.
I flip a page in my book. I wonder if there's anyone else in the world doing what I'm doing right now. With all the people everywhere, I bet there is. There's a movement from the window. I look over, and there's only Lucifer, looking very pleased with himself. A portion of the curtain is outside the window. Oh no, I realize. Ponderosa.
In the blink of an eye, I'm at the windowsill, looking down at Ponderosa, standing on the roof outside. "Ponderosa, come here," I coax. "C'mon, 'Rosa!" But it's all a game to her. She runs off into the darkness.
I turn inside and see Lucifer lying on the bed. "This is all your fault!" I snap. He rolls over luxuriously in reply. I lean on the windowsill, eyes closed, one hand gripping the bridge of my nose, thinking of what to do.
Then l hear a deep booming hoot. Hoo, hoo-hoo, hoo, hoo. "Huey'"
I gasp and pull the plug-in flashlight from a nearby wall. I step over the sill and onto the wood shingles. They're beaten and rough and springy under my feet. The warm wind blows my hair across my eyes. Pushing it back is an involuntary action as I switch on the flashlight and desperately search for my kitten.
The old roof creaks under my feet as I round the corner to where the roof peaks. Were my cat not in danger of being dragged off by a massive owl, I might notice how beautiful it is out. The moon lights the clouds in uncanny brilliance, and the pond reflects the orange lights of the streets and houses.
My flashlight's beam settles on a little white creature, and I start climbing up towards her. "Ponderosa," I murmur. "Come here, kitten." She's at the very apex of the roof, but I have to edge up to her or else she'll run away again.
There is a ghostly presence above me. I catch the breathless sound of the owl's great wings. "Ponderosa!" I cry. The poor simple creature notices that she has a miraculous thing called a tail. I am running up the mountain of shingles furiously, but I know I'll be too late.
I see Huey dive for Ponderosa with outstretched claws, and I want to close my
eyes but the horror of it forces them open. His claws are inches from Ponderosa, who still hasn't realized what is about to happen. Then, from the other side of the roof, comes something flying with equal ferocity and majesty. It lands staunchly atop Ponderosa, spitting and hissing and flaying its claws. Huey, startled by this nighttime counter-attack, starts a quick, but smooth ascent into black nothingness.
I stumble up to the rooftop, and a quivering mass that is Ponderosa leaps into my arms. I hold her tightly and look down at her unlikely savior. Lucifer sits with an owl feather at his feet, like a tribute to a god, staring back at me with proud, expectant eyes. His head is held high, and he is a soldier ready to receive highest honors.
I grin. "Don't give me the macho-guy attitude," I say. "You're neutered." With that, his arrogant face falls into a scowl, and he stalks back inside.
I'm back in the guest bedroom. The slices of pie are still there. I close the window behind me so that Ponderosa can't get out but crack it so that the wind can still drift into the room. I climb into bed and open my book. Ponderosa curls up on my chest, and Lucifer, who seems to have forgiven me, takes up residence under my arm. I start reading a little part of my book to them, but they are asleep, smothered by the warm summer wind. I take a bite of key lime pie, put my hands behind my head, and let my thoughts jumble around and spill out into the night. It seems to me that it's all to be expected on a summer's night.
About the author
Ciara Huntington, 15, an Idaho Statesman reader who is a freshman at Boise's East Junior High. Sponsoring teacher: Pete Erickson. Story: "A Summer's Night."
Ciara Huntington, 15, an Idaho Statesman reader who is a freshman at Boise's East Junior High. Sponsoring teacher: Pete Erickson. Story: "A Summer's Night."