Unfortunately for us, the town was medieval in appearance, and the
inhabitants certainly didn't speak English. We got several odd looks as we
passed through the streets, probably because of Mohawk Boy, who had
informed me that his name was Marcus. He had asked me not to call him
'Marc' so, naturally, I did.
"Hey Marc," I said, as a couple more villagers stopped to stare at us. "Do you think these people are going to let us use a phone?"
"I doubt they even have phones," he stated. "Don't call me Marc. These people look like some sort of medieval society. I don't know... Do you think the government knows about these settlements out here?"
"Maybe it's a conspiracy," I suggested. "What do you think?"
He shrugged. "Wait, we're coming to the outskirts now... Uh oh. Those men up there don't seem to want to let us through..."
Indeed, a dozen men were now barring us from leaving the city. I rolled my eyes. This was getting ridiculous. It was time to take matters into my own hands, once again.
"Look," I said, stepping forward and raising my hands. "I don't know where I am, or who you people are, but you can count on the police hearing about this when I get back home. And then, let me tell you, you're going to get it. You'll never escape the finger of justice, or whatever it's called. You'll all be thrown in jail, or maybe executed. Oh wait, they don't have capital punishment in Canada, do they? Well never mind then, you'll be tortured and forced to take lessons in English. Or something. And, by the way, my dad's a judge and my mum's a police officer, so you'd better watch out. Yeah, I'd really watch my back if I were you-"
While I was talking, Marc had taken out a cigarette and made a move to light it. When the flame rose up from his lighter, the men gasped, murmered amongst themselves, and stepped back quickly. We were free to go.
"Well, looks like I talked them into letting us leave," I said happily. Marc puffed away at his cigarette thoughtfully.
"You know those things give you cancer, right?"
"I don't inhale deeply."
"Still, there is such thing as mouth, lip, gum and tooth cancer," I pointed out helpfully.
"Tooth cancer? What are you talking about?"
"You're not very well informed, are you? I bet you don't know about all the other things smoking does to you, then. The smoke gets in your eyes and makes you blind. It's a proven fact."
He snorted. "Proven by who?"
I just shook my head. Some people were impossible.
Another night passed uneventfully. Thankfully, Marc didn't snore, like he claimed I did. I knew it was a lie, though.
We walked until the sun was high in the sky and then stopped by a small creek. "What time is it?" I asked.
Marc shrugged. "No idea. My watch hasn't worked since I fell on you. Neither has my walkman. All I'm getting is static. My cellphone's out too."
"Weird..." I pondered this for a moment. "Why do you think that is?"
"I don't know. I hope it's not because we're so far from a city that I can't even pick up a signal."
I shuddered at that. Then I imagined no TV, or internet, or radio for the rest of my (probably short) life, stuck out in the middle of nowhere with a nineteen year old freak, until I died of exhaustion, or starvation, or was attacked and killed by angry French dwarves.
And then Marc began to cry. Marc, with the blue mohawk, and the army boots, and the black make-up. Marc was crying, like a baby I might add.
I had no idea what to do. I just sat there and tried to think up something brilliant. Finally, I did. "What's wrong?" I asked.
"It's just - I have this - girlfriend -back home and - I miss her!" He said between sobs.
"Oh," I said flatly. I wasn't jealous. Of course I wasn't. I mean, what kind of a guy cried over a girlfriend he hasn't seen in two days? A girlfriend who was very likely ugly, poor, dumb, and overall less of a person than I was?
We sat like that for a good half an hour until Marc calmed down. His eyeshadow had run, so he had to clean it off in the stream.
Finally, we started out again. Marc had pulled himself together and was trying to act like the whole thing had never happened. I wasn't about to let him get away with that, though.
"So what's your girlfriend like?" I inquired. "Is she nice? Is she pretty? Is she prettier than me? what's her name? Does she have a nicer name than I do? Do you think Colleen is a nice name? Hmmm?"
He looked at me oddly, but answered my questions. "My girlfriend's great. She's nice, yeah. She's pretty. I don't know, I guess you two are equally pretty, if that's what you want to hear. Her name's Evelyn. No, it's not a nicer name than your's. Yes, Colleen is a very nice name. Yes."
I was almost satisfied. Almost. I was hungry, though, and growing less and less optimistic about finding a telephone any time soon. I wondered how long I could survive out in the wilderness of Canada. Not very long, I concluded. After the threat of grizzly bears, wolves, the odd moose, wolverines, bob cats, French fur traders, vikings and polar bears, there was still the possibility of falling into a frozen stream, or being lost in the woods, and wandering around in circles until one of the former threats happened.
Fortunately for me, I didn't die that day, and neither did Marc. He managed to make a small fire that night with his lighter, so at least it was close to being warm. When I finally fell asleep, I had the strangest dream.
I was back in the 7th grade, in Windsor, North Carolina where I had used to live. My old friends and I were sitting around in the classroom, talking. One of my friends was holding a large book, but the title was unclear.
"You know Colleen, you should really read Mmmhpphhmmphh," she smiled. I strained to catch the title, but I couldn't. "It's really good. Trust me, you'll like it."
I laughed and shook my head. "Oh yeah right! Mmmhppmmmmhppphh sucks. Only geeks read Mmmphhmmmmppphh," I flipped my hair out of my face. "Get real!"
When I woke up, I tried to recall the name of the book, but somehow I couldn't. It struck me as being extremely important, but I just couldn't place it.
"Oh well," I said, then froze. "Marc? Marc? Marcus? Where are you?"
He was gone.
"Hey Marc," I said, as a couple more villagers stopped to stare at us. "Do you think these people are going to let us use a phone?"
"I doubt they even have phones," he stated. "Don't call me Marc. These people look like some sort of medieval society. I don't know... Do you think the government knows about these settlements out here?"
"Maybe it's a conspiracy," I suggested. "What do you think?"
He shrugged. "Wait, we're coming to the outskirts now... Uh oh. Those men up there don't seem to want to let us through..."
Indeed, a dozen men were now barring us from leaving the city. I rolled my eyes. This was getting ridiculous. It was time to take matters into my own hands, once again.
"Look," I said, stepping forward and raising my hands. "I don't know where I am, or who you people are, but you can count on the police hearing about this when I get back home. And then, let me tell you, you're going to get it. You'll never escape the finger of justice, or whatever it's called. You'll all be thrown in jail, or maybe executed. Oh wait, they don't have capital punishment in Canada, do they? Well never mind then, you'll be tortured and forced to take lessons in English. Or something. And, by the way, my dad's a judge and my mum's a police officer, so you'd better watch out. Yeah, I'd really watch my back if I were you-"
While I was talking, Marc had taken out a cigarette and made a move to light it. When the flame rose up from his lighter, the men gasped, murmered amongst themselves, and stepped back quickly. We were free to go.
"Well, looks like I talked them into letting us leave," I said happily. Marc puffed away at his cigarette thoughtfully.
"You know those things give you cancer, right?"
"I don't inhale deeply."
"Still, there is such thing as mouth, lip, gum and tooth cancer," I pointed out helpfully.
"Tooth cancer? What are you talking about?"
"You're not very well informed, are you? I bet you don't know about all the other things smoking does to you, then. The smoke gets in your eyes and makes you blind. It's a proven fact."
He snorted. "Proven by who?"
I just shook my head. Some people were impossible.
Another night passed uneventfully. Thankfully, Marc didn't snore, like he claimed I did. I knew it was a lie, though.
We walked until the sun was high in the sky and then stopped by a small creek. "What time is it?" I asked.
Marc shrugged. "No idea. My watch hasn't worked since I fell on you. Neither has my walkman. All I'm getting is static. My cellphone's out too."
"Weird..." I pondered this for a moment. "Why do you think that is?"
"I don't know. I hope it's not because we're so far from a city that I can't even pick up a signal."
I shuddered at that. Then I imagined no TV, or internet, or radio for the rest of my (probably short) life, stuck out in the middle of nowhere with a nineteen year old freak, until I died of exhaustion, or starvation, or was attacked and killed by angry French dwarves.
And then Marc began to cry. Marc, with the blue mohawk, and the army boots, and the black make-up. Marc was crying, like a baby I might add.
I had no idea what to do. I just sat there and tried to think up something brilliant. Finally, I did. "What's wrong?" I asked.
"It's just - I have this - girlfriend -back home and - I miss her!" He said between sobs.
"Oh," I said flatly. I wasn't jealous. Of course I wasn't. I mean, what kind of a guy cried over a girlfriend he hasn't seen in two days? A girlfriend who was very likely ugly, poor, dumb, and overall less of a person than I was?
We sat like that for a good half an hour until Marc calmed down. His eyeshadow had run, so he had to clean it off in the stream.
Finally, we started out again. Marc had pulled himself together and was trying to act like the whole thing had never happened. I wasn't about to let him get away with that, though.
"So what's your girlfriend like?" I inquired. "Is she nice? Is she pretty? Is she prettier than me? what's her name? Does she have a nicer name than I do? Do you think Colleen is a nice name? Hmmm?"
He looked at me oddly, but answered my questions. "My girlfriend's great. She's nice, yeah. She's pretty. I don't know, I guess you two are equally pretty, if that's what you want to hear. Her name's Evelyn. No, it's not a nicer name than your's. Yes, Colleen is a very nice name. Yes."
I was almost satisfied. Almost. I was hungry, though, and growing less and less optimistic about finding a telephone any time soon. I wondered how long I could survive out in the wilderness of Canada. Not very long, I concluded. After the threat of grizzly bears, wolves, the odd moose, wolverines, bob cats, French fur traders, vikings and polar bears, there was still the possibility of falling into a frozen stream, or being lost in the woods, and wandering around in circles until one of the former threats happened.
Fortunately for me, I didn't die that day, and neither did Marc. He managed to make a small fire that night with his lighter, so at least it was close to being warm. When I finally fell asleep, I had the strangest dream.
I was back in the 7th grade, in Windsor, North Carolina where I had used to live. My old friends and I were sitting around in the classroom, talking. One of my friends was holding a large book, but the title was unclear.
"You know Colleen, you should really read Mmmhpphhmmphh," she smiled. I strained to catch the title, but I couldn't. "It's really good. Trust me, you'll like it."
I laughed and shook my head. "Oh yeah right! Mmmhppmmmmhppphh sucks. Only geeks read Mmmphhmmmmppphh," I flipped my hair out of my face. "Get real!"
When I woke up, I tried to recall the name of the book, but somehow I couldn't. It struck me as being extremely important, but I just couldn't place it.
"Oh well," I said, then froze. "Marc? Marc? Marcus? Where are you?"
He was gone.
