Three weeks with my brother - Nicholas Sparks [59]
“Cathy’s the same way.” I sighed. “Did I ever tell you that I rented Silver Bullet for Miles?”
“No. What’s that?”
“It’s this movie about werewolves. Stephen King wrote the story it was based on, and I figured that Miles might want to watch it with me. It’s what our dad used to do, right? So I let him watch it.”
“And?”
“He had nightmares for months. Cathy was absolutely livid—I got glares you can’t even imagine, and she still brings it up whenever I offer to bring Miles to a movie. ‘He better not get nightmares,’ she warns. ‘And if he does, you’re the one who’s going to have to sit up with him all night.’”
Micah smiled. “Our wives and children just don’t seem to have the appreciation for good horror movies that we do.”
“It’s a shame,” I admitted. “All I wanted to do was share something with Miles that my dad shared with me growing up. Kind of like going fishing or playing catch or going to museums.”
“I understand completely, little brother,” he said. He put his arm around me. “You gotta give that to dad,” he said. “He did teach us to appreciate the important things in life.”
Once back at the hotel, we decided to go snorkeling.
While I’ve snorkeled in the Caribbean and Hawaii, I’ve never been more impressed than I was that day. Thousands of bright blue starfish, barracudas, and colorful reef fish swam in the warm, clear water, and a light current made it possible to float at the surface of the shallow water while expending little effort. Above us, clouds had filled in the sky, making it possible for us to be out without getting sunburned, and we stayed in the water, even when the rain started to fall.
Afterward, we ate on the hotel’s outdoor patio. We were trying to decide what to do later in the evening; with nothing planned, it seemed like a waste to head back to our rooms. The bartender—who was also our waiter—recommended a pub crawl, and said a van would stop by the hotel around eight o’clock, if we signed up for it.
A pub crawl is essentially that: The van comes by, picks you up, and brings you from one pub to the next over the course of the evening. Whether or not a person drinks, however, is almost beside the point. Over the years, I’ve visited numerous countries, and I’ve learned that until you meet the people in a relaxed setting, doing what they normally do, you haven’t actually experienced what the country is all about. Almost everyone I’ve ever met in situations like that is friendly; most people around the world enjoy practicing their English and hearing about America. Our country, warts and all, is a place that foreigners find both fascinating and intriguing; they love some things and hate others, but everyone has an opinion about it. At the same time, I’m always struck by how similar people are, no matter where they live. Throughout the world, people not only want to have the chance to improve their own situation, but want their children to have more opportunities than they have. Politicians are nearly always held in low esteem; so are demagogues on both the right and the left.
Our bartender was no different, and though he was mildly disappointed that we wouldn’t be traveling to New Zealand—his home country—he did add that he’d visited the United States.
“Oh yeah?” Micah said. “Where?”
“I was in Los Angeles, San Francisco, Seattle, Las Vegas, Denver, Dallas, New Orleans, Chicago, Detroit, Philadelphia, and New York. I spent a summer traveling around the country.”
“Did you see the Grand Canyon?” Micah asked.
“Yes, of course,” he said. “I thought it was great. Mount Rushmore, too. And the giant redwoods. Beautiful. My favorite place was Las Vegas.”
“Did you win in Vegas?” I asked.
“No, I lost. I played the slots, you know? But it was fun. That’s the wildest city. I love it there. Have you ever been there?”
“Of course,” Micah said. “From Sacramento, it’s just over an hour away by plane.”
The bartender shook his head, a look of pleasure on his face. “I tell people—if you want to see America, go to Vegas. The lights, the shows, the excitement