Giggleswick: The Amadán Map

Chapter Five: Lefty Scrum

Chapter Five: Lefty Scrum

The next morning was the first of September, and Elliot awoke feeling happier than he’d ever remembered feeling in his whole life. There was only one slight problem ... he had no idea why. He rubbed his eyes groggily and swung his legs over the side of the bed, trying to determine why he should be so excited about this particular day over any other. He could think of no reason, short of a somewhat bizarre and abnormally lifelike dream he’d had about a mystical island. Its beaches had been lined with gold coins and the natives had crowded around Elliot showering him with gifts and singing songs in honor of his triumph over the evil King Nate, the Not-So-Great. But no, it had only been a dream after all. There had to be something else that had him feeling like it was Christmas morning and he’d just spotted a stack of beautifully wrapped presents, all with his name on them, piled as high as the tree. Elliot shrugged off the thought, deciding his mind was still too foggy to ponder the reason behind his mysterious carefree attitude ... he would have to hope that it might at least be the start of a good day. 

Throwing on a pair of jeans and his favorite orange tee-shirt, Elliot bounded down the stairs and then nearly tumbled over a heap of suitcases that were jammed into the narrow foyer. Before he had a chance to wonder what they were there for, he saw several jackets, hats, and pairs of gloves come flying out from behind the open closet door and into the hallway where Mr. Bisby was busy catching them in midair and tucking them neatly into an open suitcase.    

“Morning there, Elliot!” his father said rather cheerfully for a man with a fractured leg and a flooded kitchen. 

Mrs. Bisby soon surfaced from behind the closet door and gave him the same cheery welcome. “I think that brown suitcase on the end is empty, dear,” she said, pointing to the case by Elliot’s feet. “Just remember what Wally said about over-packing –– only so much room in the boat! We’ll be able to replace the things we had to leave behind once your father’s pay checks start coming in,” she said, diving back into the closet and humming happily. 

Wally? Elliot said to himself. He could picture the man clearly, but hadn’t he been a dream as well? But if his parents knew who Wally was, then it couldn’t possibly have been a dream! That would explain why they were in such good moods, and why Elliot woke up feeling like it was the Christmas of all Christmases. The events of the past day came flooding back, practically slapping him in the face –– they were actually moving to Giggleswick. Today!

Elliot grabbed for his empty suitcase and dashed back up the stairs without another word, excitement pulsing through his veins. There were so many thoughts now running through his head –– like how he’d never have to look Nate Rutledge in the face again, or show up to school in his mother’s rusted out Chevy. He’d never be reminded that he was once suspended, or that his father sold hotdogs for a living.  

As he sorted through his clothes, tossing the few shirts and pairs of pants that still fit him into the depths of his suitcase, Elliot fantasized about their new house. He bet it’d have new carpet and freshly painted walls, and plenty of room for the big pouffy couches and armchairs they’d soon be able to afford. He let his mind wander in the direction of sleepovers and birthday parties, and holidays and game-nights as he sorted through the old toy chest his father had made for him when he was little. The inside was a jumbled mess, as toy chests are prone to be, and Elliot picked through the few stuffed animals, card decks, crayons, and coloring books scattered about before discovering that there was very little of it he would miss. 

After passing over almost everything in his room, Elliot grabbed just his tattered copy of The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe off his night-stand and laid it atop the pile of clothes in his suitcase. He couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face as he took one last glance around the tiny room he’d called his own for the past twelve years. He was no longer bothered by the peeling paint or the crooked walls or the zoo mural his mother had painted. They would be good memories once they were in the past.