The Adventures of Stevie #50
These stories were told to me by friends and other people. Some of them
are true. Some of them are only partly true. Some of them should have
been true. LOL
My first post about Stevie ("Call me Stephen!") was when he was 12 and
in summer camp and was told by another camper. This was from a time
before computers would fit on a desk and when people communicated with
friends in other countries by actual letters sent through the postal
service. When children did this those friends were called "penpals".
Carlos is Stevie's penpal in Argentina and knows English. This is a
fictional contrivance to enable Stevie to tell us his stories because
he isn't here in person. I think.
All characters are fictitious, even if some of them might have names
that belong to some actual people, or act like people we know.
Stevie's school is for gifted children who don't fit in regular schools.
The stories may not be posted in chronological order.
Stevie is 12 in this story. It is Spring of year 2 of his special
school.
The Adventures of Stevie #50 "A Nose for My Trouble, Part 1"
Dear Carlos,
Sometimes being small is good. Sometimes being small is bad. When
both of those times happen at the same time, it's better not to think
about it, just do. I did. Here is what happened.
I was playing chess with my father in his home office after supper. I
was visiting him. I had set up my pieces without the queen and a rook,
and I had only 5 seconds to make each move, to make it more fair. It
really wasn't. I was winning. He got a call. After a while he asked me
to pick up the other phone and listen quietly. I could hear them
anyway, but I did. Somebody had a problem with a secure building. They
needed to get in and get something important out, because there was a
fire in the building next to it, and it might set the other buildings
on fire, but they couldn't get all the way to the important thing,
because the person who could get past his own security was on a trip
out of the country, and couldn't be reached. The only way they could
think of that could work just to get into his office in time, was
through ventilation ducts, but they were too small for anybody they
had. They wanted to know if any of our school kids could do what they
needed to get done.
I was excited! I almost couldn't do the "quietly" thing. I was the
smallest student, and better than some of the bigger ones, and I had a
few skills not even father knew about. If anybody could do it, I was
their best choice. If father would let me. It might be dangerous. He
loves me. I pointed at my chest and nodded up and down so fast and
hard, I knocked my glasses off. After I bent back up from grabbing them
off the floor, I saw father was signaling me "agreement." I couldn't
help it. I screeched a little. The man on the other end of the line
asked what the noise was. Father said it was just some malfunctioning
equipment in his office. I acted insulted, but grinned at him.
We got into working clothes. They are black, and very strong, and
have lots of pockets in strange places. We filled those pockets with
tools we might need, and took other tools and ropes, and got in the car
and drove to where the problem was. It took like a year to get there.
Not really, but it felt like it, I was so excited. My first real job
with father. I thought it would never happen, but now it was. The
building next door was really on fire. There were smoke and flames
coming out of it. It was very pretty, but probably not to the firemen.
We went to the man in charge of our job scene, and introduced
ourselves, but naturally not with our real names. He explained the
problem, and showed us drawings of the building and its parts. It
wasn't going to be easy. The power was out. They couldn't try get
electricity back on till the fire was out, and that could take days
after that. We couldn't get in until that happened, because the whole
building was built like a bank vault, and so was the only door. We
couldn't crack that lock in time. The building was made of concrete and
had just a few windows which were too small for a fat cat to get
through. The only other ways in were through ventilation shafts on the
roof. There was a firetruck with a ladder for us to get up there. Me
and father studied the drawings and discussed privately what we could
do. I thought I would fit, just barely, but there were some tight turns
which I couldn't tell about until I was there, and there might be some
things in the ducts which could stop me, which weren't in the drawings.
Father said the decision to try it was up to me. I thought I should try
it. He told the man in charge.
He looked at me and said "On this mission? Impossible!" Father
replied, "Impossible without him." The agent said "I suppose so."
Father said "Then HE is in charge." Father was pointing at me. The
agent was about to say something bad, but father gave him that
dangerous look of his. It worked. They told me what I needed to bring
back. Some files from 2 locked cabinets, and a package from inside a
wall safe. They didn't have the combination or the keys. I thought
"More work!" I looked at the drawings of the building and planned how I
would get to where I needed to go. Then I drew it on a separate piece
of paper, so I would remember it. I didn't need to bring it with me. We
went to the roof with all of our equipment, including our
walkie-talkies.
They had to use gas powered saws to take off the hood over the
ventilation shaft. It went straight down. I took an empty silk bag
which was big enough for the stuff I was to grab, and another one just
in case, and put them in a pocket. I had 2 small sets of tools and some
rope and hooks for the end of the rope, and a knife in a sheath on my
belt, and one on my leg. I tied another rope around me, and they
lowered me down the shaft. I was holding one of the flashlights I was
carrying. The powerful lights they were shining down on top of me were
making dark shadows under me and ruining my dark vision adaptation. I
told them to turn their lights off. They wouldn't. There was an
argument. There were a few bumps, and the light went off. Father gets
things done, HIS way, which was mine then.
I got down to the part of the shaft which had the opening I needed to
get to the office. I put my head and shoulders in it. Then I got stuck.
My shirt got stuck on some screw ends which were poking out if the duct
wall, waiting for me to find them just when I didn't need to. I freed
my shirt, but got stuck again. This wasn't going to work. I thought I
was small enough to go in, but not with clothes on. I backed out of the
duct and told them to pull me up. They did. I explained the problem,
and told them what I was going to do about it.
I took off my boots and stripped down to my new jock strap, and then
pulled on socks which had rubber on the bottom and toe area, for
traction. I put all I needed to take with me in bags. Then I went back
down, before the agent who was holding his face like it would fall off,
got more mad at me and father. This time I could get into the duct,
with just a few scratches. I took off the rope they lowered me with,
and stuck it to the side of the shaft. I had to go around two corners
after that, to get to the office. They were tight, and I got scraped
some more, and I strained my shoulder a little. It took me a while to
get the grill off, then I eased out of the opening, and plopped onto
the floor. Well, that's what happens when you come out of a duct high
up on the wall in the dark. Whatever I landed on didn't like me very
much.
I will tell you more in my next letter.
Your friend,
Stephen
--
Grant
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