bitterdiva

Sean and the Whumpus

Sean had left directly from his software engineering job in Boston and arrived at the cottage late Friday night. He didn’t think he was going to make it safely when two hours into the drive his ’91 Volvo 240 began to overheat. He drove the remainder of trip with the heat blasting and windows rolled down; it didn’t help matters that the northeast was currently a furnace with temperatures hovering around 90 degrees. He eventually arrived at the cottage on the lake a little irate but safe and sound.

Fourth of July celebrations had commenced when he walked down to the dock. Some of his relatives were sitting in lawn chairs, some were on the dock, and others were out in boats stationed at the middle of the lake. The fireworks display was remarkable, the sky and the water were bright as day as the brilliant colors exploded during the finale. Sean’s favorite parts of fireworks displays were the haze and the scent of gunpowder that linger about even when all was quite again. Shortly after, everyone had retreated back inside and found their sleeping arrangements and fell asleep to the sounds of the country.

The next day, Sean stood at the edge of the water skimming rocks across the surface. The sun was midway through its diurnal cycle and its rays were reflecting off the small waves. He was enjoying the small reprieve from city life here at the cottage. It had been at least 10 years since he last saw the place and it still retained its magic. No matter how fast the outside world changed and progressed, the cottage remained free from its troubles. There were no televisions, DVD players, game consoles, computers, Ethernet or dial-up connections. In fact, most of the children of his big Irish Catholic family always hated the first day at the cottage because of being away from all their material possessions.

He had spent many weeks of his youth here vacationing with his immediate family. Often, one of his many aunts would bring him along as a companion to an older or younger cousin and to baby-sit them so his aunts and uncles could relax with their gin and tonics. As one of the youngest children in the large family, his older family members would taunt him. Vacationing at the cottage brought both physical and psychological torture but it was only the psychological torment that scarred him.

Now that he was an adult with a college degree and his own life, the pain of being at the cottage was nonexistent. He knew the difference between fantasy and reality and his then immature relatives have grown up to become responsible parents. According to his mother, the torture had shifted to the next generation with the myths and legends being handed down from the younger adults to the children. His fear of water stems from his cousin giving misinformation about the habitats and eating habits of fresh water creatures. From sharks and eels to man-eating fish recurring theme was that no matter what you did, you would be the main course.

Sean was brought out of his daydream by the sound of a little girl screaming, it had started off softly from the distance and grew louder. He turned around to face the porch when he saw his little cousin Molly running down the stone stairs. He ran over and picked her up before she could stumble on the last stair that always seemed to catch those fleeing. Her cheeks were tear-stained and her breath was fast, “Sean, Patrick said that I can’t go swimming because the whumpalompus would get me. Is it true?” He held her closer to him as he walked back down towards the dock. “No it’s not true. There is no such thing as a Whumpus,” he said still trying to calm her nerves. He put her down and it became apparent to him how tiny she was. His 6’3” frame towered over her 3-foot body like a tree, blocking the sun from getting into her already sensitive eyes. She wiped her nose with the back of her arm, “what is a whumpuh-”

“Whumpus,” he said finishing off her attempts of saying the name. He knelt down before her and placed his hands on her shoulders, “your brother Patrick was just trying to frighten you. There is no such thing as a whumpus, it was made up by members of the family when they were younger to frighten us children. Unfortunately the myth of the whumpus continues by kids slightly older than you.” She stared intently into his blue eyes and the expression of fear on her face disappeared, “if there is no such thing will you go swimming with me later?” Sean was now presented with his worst dilemma, go swimming and face his fear of water along with proving to his cousin the truth or succumb to his own childhood torture. He paused for a moment and inhaled deeply, “I would be most honored.”

05:29 PM

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