The Secret of Growing Up

The Secret of Growing Up

I

Rudy had never in the world thought he would get this close, but here he was, standing tall atop the left shoulder of Old Ogre Rock, with only Slug Pie Beach in his way!

I don’t care about stupid little slugs, he thought.  I am about to discover the greatest mystery of all, and that would shut Todd up once and for all.

“Everybody that’s all grown up knows about the secret of the island,” Todd would say, “—too bad it’s getting a little late for you, Roo-doo the Ridiculous!”

He hated being called Roo-doo, but every time he would reply in proud defiance, “You’ll see, Todd, watch me do it, I will.”

Rudy wasn’t the kind of punk kid Todd could easily trick.  So, when Rudy demanded proof from Todd that the Island of Mystery was real, and Todd told him where to find the Secret Map of the Rat—and Rudy had actually found it—he was convinced of the island.  Who did Todd think Rudy was, anyway, a five-year old? He was ‘Rudy the Great Explorer,’ and ten-year old explorers meant business about their work.

Admittedly, it had taken him much longer to gather enough guts to do it alone.  Todd had said people were supposed to do it alone—unless they wanted to be eaten alive by super-sized fleas—and even though he was pretty certain that they didn’t really exist, the route itself was plenty dangerous for a boy his size.  At ten years old, he had finally hit double digits and he was ready for a whole new world to explore.  His parents had compared his height a week before and after his birthday, and even though they couldn’t see a difference, he could—he felt it: longer hair, firmer biceps, and a weird tightness growing in his neck; all signs he was ready for the next level of life.

So now here he was, ‘stepping up to the plate,’ as adults would say, and standing on Old Ogre Rock, the second-to-last marker on the map.

Looking down on the crumpled paper, he measured the distance from his present location to Slug Pie Beach, and figured the shoreline to be no more than three blocks away.  Looking up, it was about time for lunch, and soon his parents would start noticing his younger brother’s feeble attempts to protect the truth.  Little four-year old Drew was the only one besides Todd who knew what he was really up to; everyone else thought he was over at Angie Canolies’ family garage sale.

Rudy set down his favorite walking stick and his yellow backpack and stretched.  He had wanted an army-colored backpack, but all his parents had to say was that it’s hard to find a camouflaged explorer in danger and he quickly agreed on yellow instead.

Laying his back against the cold neck of the Ogre, he perched himself on its right shoulder, legs freely dangling over the edge, and decided it was time for lunch.  On a normal treasure hunt, his dad would have offered him one of his special protein bars, but this was not a normal treasure hunt, it was a secret treasure hunt—his first, for that matter, and it would’ve given away what he was up to.  So, instead, he made a special secret treasure hunt lunch: one Twix candy bar, one Snickers candy bar, one red apple, three cookies, and a can of diet cola.  He figured his was a balanced lunch: half healthy stuff, half dessert, and that the peanut content would provide just as much protein as his dad’s bars.

Sitting high atop his surroundings he felt a fresh dosage of pride as he ate his lunch, taking his time observing the landscape beneath him.  A cool breeze eased the heat of the clear summer day, calmly blowing his short brown hair in all directions.  In every direction lay low, rugged hills, all of which were covered in evergreens.  Below he could see the trail he would soon follow.  It was covered in red weeds, just as Todd said it would be, and it wound through a flowerless meadow right up to the shore.

The shore was hidden now by a large line of ugly old birches and willows, among other large brown shrubs.  Squinting further, he could see sunlight reflecting off the still water beyond and glinting through the trees: Mud Pond.  Mud Pond was the only part of his journey, aside from the distance—he often wondered why it had to be so far—that troubled him, because he hated mud.  It was like melted dirt all mixed in with bird poop and bug guts.

He took a big gulp, more out of sudden nervousness than his last chug of soda, gathered up his things—and determination—and continued on.

Carefully clambering down the smooth back of the rocky formation, he reached the soft mossy bottom and quickly found the Trail of Red Weeds.  Once he was on it he noticed it followed a murky little stream, which probably flowed straight into the pond.  It was two steps later that he noticed what seemed like thousands of tiny mosquitoes along the trail.  No matter, he thought; he’d encountered them before, and soon had his entire exposed body covered in bug repellant.

“I hate mosquitoes,” he said aloud, perhaps to the flying menaces themselves. “Strange weeds, though…”  With that he continued along the path and, feeling a small rise in the mugginess of the air, soon passed from the trail into the cool shadows of the thick foliage lining the pond ahead.  Rudy never noticed a small piece of red plastic quietly lying just beside the trail.

The red leaves led right up to a group of wild thorn bushes before abruptly ending.  There was a small opening in the middle, where the dirty little stream passed through, and Rudy decided that the opening was the only good way through.  Removing his backpack and holding it before him to both protect him from the thorny branches and any possible spider webs, he turned his left shoulder into the shrubs and squeezed through.

Rudy suddenly felt his left heel slide across slick ground. “Whoa—” he gasped, but before he could find a firm footing his left foot slid out, forcing him down hard into the remaining brambles.  His face and hands began to sting wildly, and he desperately forced his way forward on all fours, lunging through the last bush and landing hard on the moist, mucky earth of the shore. 

“Gosh darn it!” he yelled.  Slug Pie Beach.  He hated it already.

Before his frustration could take control, however, he (being the Great Explorer that he knew he was) began composing himself: he wiped off his back and arms the best he could, checked for any broken bones—zero—and pulled out the napkin he had used for lunch.  Dabbing his face and hands it was soon dotted by several little red specks.

“Great,” he muttered.  Tucking the napkin inside his right jean pocket, he pulled out his crumpled map from the left.  He began scanning it for the Pond Crossing that Todd had described to him when something distracted his attention.  His eyes drifted up over the top of the map and into a small group of short shrubs near where the stream trickled into the pond.

Carefully stepping across the muck to get a closer look, he could see that there was something tangled among the low-lying plants, but he could not quite make out.  It was small, bluish, sort of twisted and thin, like a rag, but then again those curves reminded him of—

Rudy instinctively took a step back and felt a small chill crawl up his neck.  It was a thong.

II

Now what is that doing there? Rudy thought.  He couldn’t quite hit it on the head, but something about the scene unnerved him; it didn’t seem…normal.  Thongs were for older girls, who went on dates with high school guys and kissed a lot.  Judging by its size he guessed it probably belonged to an older girl.  He wondered again what it was doing there, but before he could even finish the thought he quickly glanced around, half afraid, half unsure of what to do.  Was the girl near by?  Worse yet, was she NAKED?  Rudy shook his head in disgust.  “Bleah!”  He sure hoped not, because that would be enough to call this adventure off for sure.

Certain that no one was around, much less a naked girl, he left the thong in the growth, turning his back to it, and once again eyed his crumpled map.  He was looking for the…what was it again?  Rudy shook his head and blinked, trying to clear his head.  Oh yeah, the Pond Crossing.  Somewhere to his left there should be a small outstretched section of muddy beach, marked by a pile of pebbles, that led into the pond itself.  Rudy could remember Todd telling him of this part of the journey very clearly.

“You must wade into the water directly in front of the little pebbles, because there’s a long strip of shallow water between that exact spot and the island.  Now, you’re a little shorter than me, so you’ll most likely be up to your chest in mud—uh, I mean, water.”
He was always sneaking in little jokes like that to throw him off balance, to break up any niceness he, Todd James Benson, might have accidentally shown. “Sorry Roo-doo, I guess I forgot again.”

“Whatever,” Rudy repeated aloud.  Finding the pebbles a few yards to his left, around a small bend, he paused a moment to observe the island.  Seeing the Island of Mystery this close caused his heart to pound with excitement.  The past two summers he had endeavored upon many wild and crazy adventures, searching for treasures that ranged from bird’s feathers to ancient coins, but nothing had gotten him as worked up as he was now.  Todd had not even mentioned what the secret was, just that everybody older than Rudy knew it because they, too, had taken the challenge when they were younger.
One of the first things Rudy wanted to ask his parents when he got home, after being grounded for a month, was what it was like for them when they found the secret.
His mind next wandered onto Angie Canolies.  Had she known the secret, too, and not told him?  He’d have to tell her, too, or at least give her the map, but he doubted she would make it alone.  He would go with her, even if it was against the Sacred Rules of the Map.

The Sacred Rules, printed on the back, were written, as Todd had said, in ancient Times New Roman, because that was the font of ‘official business’ and this map was serious business.

“Especially listen to Rule 11, Roo-doo: ‘Thou shalt not speaketh of the secret path to the Island of Mystery, nor shalt thy showeth the path to anyone, not even to thy girl friends.’ Hear that, Roo-doo?” Todd would jeer. “No girlfriends.”  Then he’d try and fake an uncontrollable laugh. Rudy knew how to handle it, but it was very hard.

“Angie’s not my girlfriend, Todd.  She’s a girl…” Pause, then “…friend.  Got it?”

Todd stupidly nodded his head and continued on with the rules.

Here I am, Rudy thought now.  Smiling to himself, he held his walking stick high above his head and waded into the murky shallow water.  He immediately felt disgusting little underwater plants tickling his ankles, but he took a deep breath and pushed on.

“Here I go!” he exclaimed as the water rose to his neck.

Trudging forward across the secret Crossing of Mud Pond, Rudy kept his eyes fixed upon his prized destination ahead.  The island was only two hundred feet away, and from the look of it, the Great Explorer hoped he would not have to be on the island long.  Roughly one hundred feet in diameter and roughly the shape of a starfish, it was spotted with large, yet rather unhealthy looking trees, mostly small maples, birches, the occasional browning cedar, and one large, droopy gray willow in the middle of them all.  Something about the trees, though, made Rudy a little nervous—they were like the ones on the shore behind him, but more dead looking.  (i}Should be called Ghost Tree Island, he thought.

When he was halfway there, Rudy realized that several little bugs were skipping and sliding across the hazy green water, the kind that seemed to walk across the surface.  They used to fascinate him as a kid, but now, at the ripe age of ten, they annoyed him, because it was as if half their purpose in life was to somehow get into his nose, mouth, ears or shirt. He started swatting at them with his stick but his sudden movements caused the muddy bottom to give out beneath him, and before he knew it his upper, dryer half dropped beneath the surface.  He was a good swimmer but, despite his best efforts, he panicked, and with his panic came a frantic scramble for the island.

III

After what seemed like hours, Rudy’s scrambling hands finally felt dry land—well, as dry as mud can get.  He pulled himself ashore and lay for a moment on his back.  Heaving, gagging, soaked, and caked in mud sludge, he had—he had arrived!  Realizing he had finally made it, his exhaustion was gone as fast as it had come, and he jumped to his feet wild with excitement.  It was cut short a second later, however, when his feet slid out and he landed square on his back.  Grumbling, he struggled up, much more carefully this time, and his excitement was back fast as lightning.  Although he had lost his walking stick during his swim, he was certain the discovery he was about to make would well be worth the loss.  After all, he was ten, it was a whole new era, and not just in life, but in adventure, and so far this hunt had ‘taken the cake’ (another phrase he’d overheard from his parents).

Brushing aside the many deep-colored reeds and wet-soil shrubbery that seemed to be everywhere on the beach, he made his way inward, to the center of the starfish-shaped island.  He hadn’t gone further than a few steps, however, when tragedy struck: searching for his crumpled map in his pocket, he could not find it.  No, wait, that can’t be right.  He pulled it inside-out, then his right, but it was too late; the map was gone!  He turned to run back to the shore—it had to be there!—when his right leg caught on something, causing him to trip forward.

Looking down to see what had snagged his jean pant leg, he found a rotting log protruding from a patch of dirty-green grass that had overgrown a small, big-leafed plant.  He bent down to pull his now-torn jean leg free of the log when he abruptly smelled something like rotten farts, only much, much stronger, somehow sticking to his nose.  Rudy flung his arms over his face and started rocking back and forth, trying to abort his sudden urge to vomit, but it was no use when, upon lowering his hands to try and further pry out his pant leg, he discovered to his utmost horror that it was not a rotting log to which he was stuck, but rather something more like a long, broken bone.

That did it.  The stench, the bone, the mud, it all brought it up, and then without hesitation he turned to run.  Rudy fought every urge in his body to run completely over the water and away from the island.  He knew he couldn’t just abandon his greatest discovery of all—and that bone could not have been the secret!—but that bone was sooooo nasty!  Still, Rudy thought, he had to at least find his map, and so, as cautiously as he could, he returned to the spot on the beach where he crawled ashore and started looking around.  As murky as the water was, and as dark and green as everything on the island was, he figured the white piece of paper wouldn’t be hard to find at all.  The thought of it being lost somewhere in the pond he refused to believe—

Scanning the water line, which was covered by the sort of green goo that he often found at the ocean during low tide, and which those dumb water bugs seemed to love, he was surprised to find a few half-buried beer cans, even a few cigarettes.

“This place is disgusting,” he voice aloud, hoping it would perhaps somehow change things.

He started to lose hope of finding it on the beach, thinking he had to go searching the pond itself, when he thought he—wait…there! “Yes!” Rudy exclaimed, eyeing a piece of white just beneath the surface.  The white was actually a little below the surface close to where he had landed on shore; it must have been one of those ‘right under your nose’ things, he thought.

Reaching into the water with both hands, he found to his dismay that it wasn’t paper at all.  To this day, Rudy never understood why he did what he did next.  Perhaps it was his curiosity.  Perhaps it was his hoping with all the hope in the world for it to be his crumpled map.  Perhaps it was nothing at all.  Perhaps it was everything: Todd, his parents, and…Angie.  Perhaps it was everyone telling him to do it.  Whatever it was, he  never knew.  All he knew was that it was not the map that he found there, half-buried in the muck of that forsaken Island of Mystery.  It was a mouthless mouth, a faceless face, and a pair of empty eyes.