Retrospect: Wade

Self-tutoring about people and events from the past: the tutor shares one.

Wade was my parents’ friends’ son, a few years older than I was. He babysat us one time while his parents and mine went to a party to watch the Grey Cup.

Wade was a good guy, but more of a friend than a babysitter; we had played together at his house in the past. Moreover, his heart didn’t really seem to be in babysitting. I think his mother had brought him over to prevent my mother from making the excuse that she couldn’t go to the Grey Cup party because she didn’t have a sitter. The friend, for whatever reason, really wanted my mother to go with her. The fathers were already there.

The Grey Cup typically happens in late November, so it got dark pretty quickly after my mother and Wade’s mom left for the party. In our (to him) unfamiliar house, poor Wade decided he had to feed us. One slight problem: my mother hadn’t planned to be gone, so there was no obvious food out for us (or for Wade).

Perhaps Wade himself was hungry, having suddenly been loaded into the car and driven over to our place to stand in as babysitter. Whatever the reason, he became determined to make us dinner. Noticing the “meats” drawer in the fridge, he commented resolutely: “There must be something in there.”

What poor Wade didn’t know was that the drawer was stuck closed. My parents never stored meat in there because, for some reason, it was nearly impossible to open it. I realize now that something must have been jammed in the rollers.

My sister piped up: “There’s nothing in there. Our parents never use that drawer.”

“Who heard of that? Someone not putting meat in the meats drawer? There must be something in there for us,” Wade politely answered.

Wade tried to open the drawer normally but realized, in half a second, that wasn’t going to work. He pulled a little harder – still no movement.

Wade opened the fridge door all the way, then bent down in front of the drawer and took hold of its handle with both hands. Then, with his feet flat on the floor, he pulled with his back.

“Ohh, this is really stuck,” he panted. However, he kept pulling. Slowly the drawer opened – maybe about an inch per minute. He really put in an impressive effort, as we could tell from his breathing and posture as he pulled. At first, he had his coat on, since he argued that the fridge would make him cold. However, after awhile, he took it off.

Probably because the fridge light was on, nobody turned the kitchen one on. The kitchen grew darker by the minute as Wade struggled with the meats drawer. Finally, he had it open, revealing it to be empty.

Wade didn’t say anything. Luckily, he found closing the drawer easier than opening it. “I guess I will call our parents to ask what they want me to do,” he panted.

I don’t recall what we had for dinner. After Wade’s Herculean feat of opening the meats drawer, everything else seemed to fade. The emptiness of the meat drawer seemed to defeat Wade at what should have been his moment of triumph.

Not long after, we moved away. I don’t think I ever saw Wade again.

My mother would go on to wonder, for months afterwards, why it had been so urgent for her to accompany Wade’s mother to the Grey Cup party that night.