Carrie hopped on one foot to the creek that ran into Lake Michigan. She plopped onto a log, dangled her sore ankle in the numbing cold water, and watched it swell into a black and blue softball.  

Why did I have to come so far? she wondered. Two miles past the creek. To see deer tracks on the beach. Do I care about deer tracks? No. It’s because I’m bored and there’s absolutely nothing to do in Grandpa’s boring beach house.  

Carrie rubbed her throbbing ankle, closed her eyes, and replayed the evening before… 

“Grandpa,” she had whined, lagging behind on the way back from the creek. “Why do we have to walk the beach in the dark?” 

“It makes us even,” he said. “That way, you can’t see either. Besides, you can hear better in the dark.” 

Carrie scuffed her feet in the sand. “Why can’t you at least get Netflix? I’ve read my book. Watched your two Star Wars DVDs…twice…and now my phone is down to two bars. I can’t find my charger, and I’ve only been here two days. There’s nothing going on around here.” 

“Really? I think there’s a lot going on. There’s a storm coming out of the southwest. There’s a deer taking a drink down the beach. And the sand bar has shifted again since the storm last week.” 

“Grandpa, I’m not a Brownie anymore—all interested in nature walks and how you can know things in the dark.” 

“Oh, I see. I should have realized.” He said in a small voice. “Of course. You’re getting older.” 

She hadn’t intended to hurt his feelings. “Can we build a fire?” she asked. He would like that. 

Awhile later, she stared at the fire, watching the last bit of moisture sizzle and boil from the end of a driftwood log.  

“So, okay, so tell me how you know a storm is coming and all that other stuff.” 

He scratched the stubble on his cheek. “Do you really want to know, or are you just humoring me?” 

“Yeah. So, tell me.” 

“First the storm. Can you hear the rumble in the distance?” 

“No.” 

“Concentrate. You have heard it. You just haven’t noticed it yet. At this point, it’s more like a vibration than a sound.” 

“Same thing with the sand bar, right? You listen for the waves breaking in the shallower water?” 

“Yep. But the deer is another story. Did you hear the dog barking when we were by the creek?” 

“No.” 

“He lives next to a ravine that ends at the lake and he barks at every deer going down to water. I used to see their hoof prints all over the beach in the morning.” 

Carrie nudged the log deeper into the fire. “What’s your point?” 

“My point—” He coughed, then spit. “Well, my point is you have to shut out noise before you can hear what’s going on around you.” 

“But I don’t care about animals in the night. I’d rather listen to my CDs. Geez, Grandpa.” She watched the fire reflecting in the corners of his clouded eyes. 

He spoke slowly and carefully. “I just wanted to tell you my secret. What I do when I’m bored or frightened or feeling lonely.” He turned back toward the fire.  

“So, you listen to sounds?” 

He sighed, swallowed. “That’s the second step. The first step is to get away from people noise. Then I listen to all the sounds around me, one by one. Pretty soon, the only sounds I can hear come from me—my own thoughts and feelings. And that’s when the real surprises begin. I remember happy times, like when you were little and cute. Not like now when …” 

“Cut it out, Grandpa.” 

He chuckled. “And when I’m quiet inside, jewelry boxes come together, trips get planned, gardens get planted—easy as pie.” 

Carrie threw a stick into the fire. “I’m still bored…”