Page 21 of The Boy Who Cried Bear
Mom would say you aren’t supposed to talk to children like that. Carson would grumble that Gunnar’s being weird—again. He’s right. Gunnar is weird. But when it comes to grown-ups, there are two kinds of weird. Creepy weird and just plain weird. Creepy weird was the crossing guard who always wanted to talk about video games, and there was nothing wrong with that, but Max’s gut had said the guy was creepy weird, and then he started inviting Max over to his place to play games “but don’t tell your mom, ’cause they’re rated M” wink-wink. Gunnar wasn’t that kind of weird. He was just ordinary weird.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Max says.
“You don’t want to talk about what you saw in the forest.”
Max glances up, frowning.
“Oh, you thought I meant the other stuff. Nah, I wouldn’t ask you about that. That’s none of my business. If you wanted to talk about it, I’m a good listener, but I’d never ask. I mean about what’s currently sticking in your craw. The fact that everyone’s out looking for a bear when you said that’s not what you saw.”
Max lowers his head and resumes walking. That is what he’s mad about. Oh, they’d all been nice about it. Never questioned what he saw. That made it worse, like he was a scared little kid who had to be humored.
You saw a monster under the bed? Describe the monster please. I’ll take notes.
He kicks another rock.
“You pissed off because I didn’t back you up?” Gunnar says.
Max shrugs. Kind of? Except he knows that’s not fair because Gunnar never contradicted Max’s story. He just said he didn’t see the eyes.
“You embarrassed about saying you saw human eyes?” Gunnar asks.
Max stiffens. He is embarrassed. He’s partly upset because they treated him like a baby, and partly mad because they didn’t take him seriously. But he’s also embarrassed that he might have made a mistake. Only grown-ups don’t usually ask if you’re embarrassed, because it might make a kid think that they should be embarrassed. They stick to words like “upset” and “angry.”
“They should have warned you what they were going to say before that meeting,” Gunnar says. “I get it. The sheriff and Casey don’t have kids, so they aren’t quite sure how to deal with you. They’re good people, and they didn’t mean to hurt you. They just didn’t think.”
Max nods and blinks back tears prickling his eyes.
“You want me to leave you alone?” Gunnar asks.
Max shakes his head. Gunnar might be weird—and he might say things grown-ups aren’t supposed to say to kids—but Max likes that. He’s spent all day being in a bad mood after hearing about the bear hunt.
He tried talking to Carson, but his brother told him to stop whining. He tried talking to Mom, but she did that thing both his parents did, where they never doubted Max’s experience, even if they didn’t think it happened that way. That made him mad sometimes. It was like Sheriff Eric and Detective Casey not just coming out and saying they thought he saw a regular bear. Mom wouldn’t either. She accepted what he thought he’d seen, which he guessed was better than denying it, but still … His mom had focused on praising him for doing the right thing by reporting it, before the creature—man or bear—hurt anyone.
“You wanna come up to my perch?” Gunnar says. “See if we can spot it out there?”
When Max hesitates, Gunnar glances down at him. “You can say no, kid. It’s always okay to say no to an adult who asks you to go somewhere, especially if your gut does that twisty thing. Listen to your gut. And if you do want to come up, then I’m going to suggest you go first and get out on the edge, where people can see you. Then I’ll come up.”
Max shakes his head. “We can both go up together.”
“No,” Gunnar says, his voice oddly firm. “You’re saying that so you don’t make me feel bad. Fuck that shit. You don’t know me well enough to trust me, and so you shouldn’t, not when I’m inviting you to a private spot. You go up. You get on the ledge. Then I’ll come up.”
Yep, Gunnar is definitely weird.
Max nods and starts walking. Gunnar’s perch is in a storage building that isn’t completely done yet. The main level is full of stuff, but there’s a loft, too, and the front part is open. That’s where Gunnar sits. Max once heard Gunnar and Yolanda arguing about it, in that not-really-angry way people sometimes argue. Bickering, Mom calls it when Max does it with Carson.
“You going to finish closing that loft up?” Yolanda said.
“Hmm, that makes it sound like a choice,” Gunnar said. “If it’s a choice, then no.”
“Close it up, Gunnar. Before winter, or everything in there’s going to freeze.”
“Maybe we should make it cold storage then.”
“It’s winter in the Yukon. Everything will be cold storage.”
Max figures they’ve all decided to humor Gunnar. If he likes sitting up there, then they aren’t going to make him seal it up until it has to be sealed up.
Max knows the way. He’s been there before, with Carson. He goes up the ladder and through the loft to the front part, where the roof slopes on either side. Gunnar has what Carson called “a sweet setup” there—blankets, a cooler with beer, some snacks. It’s a little weird, if Max is being honest. It looks like something Max would do—a place to hide from the grown-ups. Except Gunnar is a grown-up. Supposedly.
