What does it mean to be a good friend? I'm not sure if I can tell you that, as I've probably won first prize for worst friend. Earlier this week, I was caught trying to ruin my friend's business in a petty attempt to get rich. I was prepared to accept the consequences for my actions and serve jail time. But Frank, being the best friend ever, not only refused to press charges, but made me his business partner as well. I'm still not sure if I could forgive as readily as he did.
It's time I tell the whole story. I'll start at the beginning, when this whole mess began. It was during one of our usual Saturday lunch dates…
"You look tired, Frank. What's up?" Brock asked, popping a chip into his mouth with a crunch.
Frank yawned. "Just been really busy lately. Ever since the city built the new highway outside my tour shack, I've been swamped, if you'll pardon the pun."
"New highway?" Brock asked between bites.
"Where do you live?" Frank asked with a roll of his eyes. "I thought I'd mentioned it once or twice…It's been a huge deal, all the construction. But now that it's finished, it means that I'm raking in the cash with all the tourists coming in now."
Brock frowned in annoyance. "Never been any construction anywhere near me. That's not fair."
Frank gave his friend's shoulder a gentle squeeze. "I'm sorry. Are you mad now?"
Brock's forced grin never met his eyes. "Of course not. I'm sure that next Monday, there'll be a line for my tour that'll rival yours!"
Of course, there wasn't any line outside my swamp tour Monday or Tuesday or Wednesday or…oh, you get the idea. But there WERE bills piling up in my mailbox, all marked with FINAL NOTICE. On Friday, after five consecutive days of next to no business, I leaped on my airboat and roared off into the swamp to blow off some steam. As I was aimlessly steering the boat, going nowhere in particular, I stumbled into a small cave.
"Hmmm, I don't remember this place," Brock muttered under his breath, tying up his boat and sneaking into the cave. He flicked on his headlamp, bathing the cave in a feeble, yellow glow. "What's this?" Brock got down on his hands and knees and explored the rock face. "A tunnel?" Forgoing all common sense, Brock squeezed his way through the small opening.
That tunnel led straight to Frank's tour area! I never knew how close we really were to each other. I saw my friend steering a boatload of people through the cave and, I'm ashamed to say, my blood started to boil.
Furious now, Brock waited until Frank was well out of sight before squeezing back through the tunnel, a wicked idea forming in his mind. After returning to his shack, he booted up his laptop to find an appropriately ghastly costume.
"Hello, is this Ghoulish Getups, Incorporated?" Brock sang into the phone. "Yes, I wanted to order the Deluxe Swamp Monster costume. Is it in stock? Great, how much?" Brock winced when he heard the final total, but pressed on, hoping that he would quickly make it up in the revenue he would earn from this investment. "Express shipping? Fantastic! Thanks so much!" Brock shut his phone and grinned.
The costume arrived the next week. I wore it around the house over the weekend, admiring my getup in the mirror and practicing my bloodcurdling roars. I was afraid I would lose my voice before I could even get in a trial run spooking it up!
That Monday, I waited for Frank's airboat to motor its way into the cave…
