Short Story by J.E. Jacobs

THE RACE

It's the first time I've gone against Bunt, either as a friend or as our leader. I climb one of the big granite blocks and spit black Tootsie Roll juice between my feet.

"We ought to set up right here," I say. Bunt shakes his head like it's a stupid idea. He's wearing his Atlanta Braves jersey and I notice again how dark his skin is. Almost brown-black like the chunks of bitter chocolate Mama uses in fudge.

"You know they'll come through here," I say.

"Too easy to get pinned down, though, Case Man," Bunt says. That's what he calls me: Case Man.

"Yeah, but we'd have the element of surprise."

"Maybe so, but I'm Captain and I say we double back."

"Well maybe I'll just assume command then." I point my BB rifle at him, even though Daddy says you don't point a gun at anything unless you aim to kill it.

The big granite blocks built into the bank of the Saluda are all that's left of the old Civil War dam. The rest long since broken off in the river and smoothed into boulders by more years than I know of rushing water. Part now of what we call the "rapids." I throw a stick in the pea-green water and watch it catch and disappear in a whirlpool. There's no better place in the summer than the riverwoods. The wet crackling sounds and the smell of dark dirt and pine, and it's like God installed air-conditioning just for us kids that have to stay outside on even the hottest days.

The forest that lowers down to the river is where we play War. Us kids from Foxfire Apartments always against the rich kids from Whitehall Acres. The woods I love, but the river itself makes me nervous. I think about water so cold and from so deep. How it was in the dark before passing under the Lake Murray Dam. I heard there were whole towns buried under all that water. Whenever someone drowns in the river, like the usual high school boy too drunk to mind the floodgate sirens, I think about the water still having too much of that darkness in it. Like it's not used to so much light or laughter or boys swimming.

Stephen White drops from a branch of a pine tree, runs over to his brother Paul and pushes him. He does that a lot: pushes his brother down on the ground or thumps him on the back of the head and for no good reason. Stephen and Paul look exactly alike but are as different as cat and dog. Stephen being the dog and Paul the cat.

Stephen says to me, "What's going on, monkey breath? It's too hot for this crap."

"Close your hole, dillweed," I say back.

Debbie is throwing rocks in the river and turns around long enough to say, "I don't know, Casey, leaders shouldn't be so ugly should they?"

"Be quiet 'fore I call the dogcatcher," I say. I wouldn't ever tell anyone, but I really do like Debbie. She's so pretty and she can do stuff as good as any boy I know. When I can do it so no one sees me, I like to watch her. I like how she wears cutoff jeans over her red bathing suit and I like her long black hair and I like her olive skin. I especially like her boobs. They're big for a girl her age.

"All right, Case," Bunt says, aggravated. "If you're gonna be a baby about it, we'll just do it your way."

"Ain't no baby," I say. "Shoot, only babies believe a colored boy could ever be captain." The thick buzzing sound of the forest is turned down, almost off, like someone closed it in a closet.

"I can't believe you said that, Casey," Debbie says, and she shakes her head like Mama does. I don't know what to say so I tell her to blow it out her backside. I don't notice right off, but Bunt has climbed on my block. He has that look. I've only seen it once before. Last summer, when an older boy at the Zippy Mart thought it'd be funny to slap the ICEE out my hand. Bunt and me bought the special Major League cups every week and stacked them on our windowsills. We were waiting for Hank Aaron, our favorite Atlanta Brave. Bunt looked at me that day and then down at the red ICEE on the blacktop parking lot. Then he looked at that big old boy and his face went cold and hard like stone. When Bunt took a step forward, the boy turned to leave, laughing over his shoulder like he wasn't scared.

He has that same look now when he sticks his finger in my chest. "You disappoint me, son," he says.

Now Debbie climbs on the block too and puts her arm around Bunt, "Hey you guys, let's go swimming."

"Crap," Stephen says. "You all are the wishyist washyist bunch I've ever seen... Although, I do like the idea of leaving them Whitehall pricks wandering around out here."

"How about the City Pool?" Bunt asks loudly, for everyone, but keeps his eyes on me.

Stephen says, "No way. Too many kids pee in there." He's right 'cause I've done it myself.

"Let's go in the river," says Debbie. We're not allowed to swim in the river, but we don't need parents to tell us that. Paul says no right away and his brother calls him a candyass and pushes him down again.

"My daddy let me go swimming at a boatlanding downriver," Debbie says. "It's really calm there."

"What you think?" Bunt asks, still staring at me. I don't want to look like a candyass so I say it's fine. Bunt asks everybody else and they all say okay and Debbie nods yes like her head is on fire.

We're leaving and I turn around at the head of the trail and see Debbie standing on my block. She's staring at a group of high school boys who float by on inner tubes. They scream and reach for one another and one of them hoowees and slaps the water when he sees her. I don't like that he does that and I kick a big pine root, more mad at being mad than anything else.

We ride our bikes through a long tunnel of blackberry bushes. The dirt road to the landing is under a roof of oak trees and moss and Bunt and me ride slowly behind the others in lazy Ss, in and out of circles of sunlight.

Bunt says, "Since Hank broke it, you'd think they have his cup in by now."

"I know," I say. "We ought to be checking every morning."

I'm thinking how many ICEEs we've had to drink and how many deposit bottles we've had to collect to buy them. And still no Hank Aaron. Not even after Hank broke the record.

It happened just last week. I'd been watching the game with my Daddy and his friend Earl. When The Hammer came to bat, Earl said, "I wish somebody would just shoot that boy." I thought he was talking about me, 'cause maybe I was blocking the TV where I sat on the floor. But that wasn't it at all, he wasn't even looking at me. Wasn't even looking at the TV. And then The Hammer nailed it, number 715, and I tell you what, I about came out my skin. I was jumping up and down and hollering like a fool when I noticed how quiet it was.

I went to the kitchen to call Bunt and I could hear them. My daddy told Earl he thought he'd never see the day. "Just ain't right," he'd said and there was a meanness to his voice. I saw once where John Wayne was after Indians that kidnapped his niece. Boy did he hate those Indians. I'd never heard a good guy sound so hateful and angry and that's what Daddy sounded like. I put the phone down and ran across the complex, along the way running into Bunt. Him already on his way to me.

I look at Bunt now as he leans way out over his handlebars, weaving back and forth.

"How long you think before somebody breaks 715," I ask.

"Shoot. Long time I guess," he says, steering slowly back and forth with his elbows. "Look how long the Babe held it. We'll probably be dead 'fore anybody breaks 715."

I've never been to the boatlanding before, so it's surprising how the flats of the river are so different. There's fewer trees so the sky is open and everything shimmers like the beach. The water plant's diversion dam is downriver and before it the water is wide and calm. Midriver is a tiny island covered with moss and rocks and two huge pine trees.

The others are already in the water as Bunt and me drop our bikes. The twins are on the putout, splashing each other like a couple of spastic lunatics. Debbie is floating on her back further out.

"How ya doin', Deputy?" I yell. Her ears are in the water so I don't think she hears me, but now I see her hand floating out beside her. She's giving me the finger.

Bunt goes screaming into the water and swims out to Debbie and squirts water on her face with his mouth. I wouldn't want him spitting on my face like that.

"What you waiting on, Case Man?" he yells. I'm always surprised to see Bunt swimming: Daddy says most colored people are scared of the water.

We have splash wars for a while and play Marco Polo and then take turns pairing up for Chicken. I like Chicken the best. I give Debbie a hard time, but I love the way she feels sitting on my shoulders.

After a while we see two turtles walking down the concrete putout. Just plain as you please, like it's their own private driveway. We take them up on the dirt road to have races when Bunt notices that Debbie's gone. We didn't see her get out of the water and her bike is still here. Everyone stands quiet, looking around, but there's nowhere to hide. A huge kingfisher flies down before us, just a couple feet away, and we hardly even notice it.

Bunt is starting to look scared and that worries me because Bunt is never scared. Then he smiles at me and nods towards the island.

"Come on out, Witch Mama," I yell. And there she is, her dumb old head sticking out from behind one of the trees, laughing at us.

Stephen laughs and cups his hands around his mouth and calls out that she's a "turd." As she swims back, Stephen splashes her and Paul wants to know about the island. She says it's just the trees and rocks but maybe she did see a snake swim by. Paul doesn't like that.

Stephen says she has some major balls swimming out there, and I say it's because of her boobs. "You can't sink with boobs like that," I say.

"That's right," Debbie says. "Maybe this year when you sit on Santa's lap, you should ask for a pair of your own." Everybody laughs, even me after a minute, and Stephen pulls at the nipple places on his tee shirt, making imaginary boobies and we all laugh very hard.

Just then Debbie says we should race to the island. Stephen thinks it's a great idea right away, but Paul wants to know more about the snakes.

So Bunt does what Bunt does and asks everybody and everybody finally agrees. "Wait a minute," I say, looking out the corner of my eye at Debbie. "What if the winner gets to pick somebody to swim back naked?"

"Holy crap," Stephen says. "And I thought I was the pervert."

Bunt likes the idea, though, and when Bunt likes something it's a done deal. What I like is that it's my plan. I also like knowing I'm the best swimmer. I can beat everybody except maybe Debbie, but I'm pretty sure about her too. And after I win, I know exactly who's going to swim naked.

We all line up in the water beside the putout and stand just where the river floor drops off. Mud swirls up from our feet and drifts out into the dark water and everybody smiles like they know something the others don't.

Bunt holds up his hand, "On your mark... get set... go!" Debbie and me are in clean and shallow and come out together already in stroke. I look behind and see Bunt is a few feet back. The twins are still on shore, Paul slapping at Stephen, who's yanked down his shorts.

I'm moving good 'cause I can feel the water pushing at my scalp. Debbie stays with me though, so I bury my face and stroke harder. When I check again she's still with me and Bunt's a little closer too and the twins are still fighting on the banks. I'm swimming as hard as I can. Now I don't even come out for air. Suddenly I feel something on my leg and I kick it away and stop to make sure it isn't a snake. When I turn, Bunt and Debbie are floating behind me.

Suddenly the water is much colder and in that weird way you know without seeing, I know it's gotten very deep. I look around to get my bearings and feel the thing on my ankle again. This time I see it's Bunt grabbing at me and now I can feel how strong the current is. He pulls at my leg and Debbie is looking off at the island that's coming and going at the same time.

Bunt yells that we have to swim. "Let's go! Let's go!" he yells.

The floodgate sirens begin to wail and on shore a red light on a long white pole flashes like the bubble on an ambulance. Now the water will rise and even though Mama says cussing is for the weak-minded I yell "shit shit shit" over and over again. I say god damn too but only in my head. It's like a dream. One of those dreams where you're trying to run from something but you can't go nowhere.

"Let's go, Case Man," Bunt yells.

Where did this come from? The water was so calm, like the pond behind our old house on Redwood Drive. It must be some kind of suction from the dam. Or maybe from where the water goes deep around the island.

Bunt keeps yelling and the twins are on shore jumping up and down and waving their arms. Now I see a dark path down the center of the river to the dam, the lines of the current moving against the calm water. If we get pulled to the dam when the water rises we're done for.

Debbie and Bunt hit a whirlpool and are yanked further behind. Now I see red mud and root tendrils floating up from below and I know I'm over the long pointed tip of the island. The current bends the roots out of reach, so I force my way underwater to catch one.

Bunt sees I've anchored myself so he grabs Debbie and slams against the water in a wild side-stroke. Before they get very far, though, the current pulls her loose and she screams. She has that look I figure people must get when they know they're dying.

It's not something I decide to do, but I let go the root and swim into the current. Debbie grunts when we hit and I pull her tight by the waist, kicking and pulling against the current. I tell God we're just kids and we don't know any better. I say it'll kill our parents right along with us and the world will be a lesser place for somebody so beautiful as Debbie to be taken away. I tell Debbie it'll be all right and I hold her tighter and push my back against the current. I think maybe if I hold her tight enough, God will see that I love her and maybe that'll mean something.

I tell God everything I think He wants to hear when I notice the wakes splashing at our sides and the current moving past us. I twist around and Bunt is holding the back of my shorts with one hand and a root with the other. I didn't feel him pull over me when I swam past to get to Debbie and I didn't even feel him put his hand inside the waistband of my shorts.

Bunt's a good foot taller, so he's been able to pull the root further out. He pulls us through the water and tells me to put my arms around his neck and for Debbie to do the same to me. Then he disappears underwater and grabs a root further up and then another and another until we can all stand.

When we can manage to move, we sit near one of the trees away from the rising water. Debbie cries and I put my arm around her. It bothers me that she gets up and sits in Bunt's lap and puts her head on his shoulder. It doesn't really bother me, though, maybe not as much as all the little times she smiles at him in that strange way. Shoot, if she wasn't doing it, I'd go over there and sit in his lap myself.

Bunt finally nudges me and points at the putout where the twins are yelling at a man in a camouflage boat. He slaps me on the back and says, "I guess I get to choose who goes back naked."

I start to laugh but he gets that look again. "Come on, Case Man, you better get them trunks off before the boat gets here."

Maybe the man is drunk, but he hardly seems to notice that I climb in the boat buck naked. I sit in the front with my back to everyone. Bunt and Debbie snicker and Debbie makes kissing sounds. I'm holding my folded shorts over my private parts and I want to laugh but I can't. I feel mad, strange mad. Not because they're laughing at me, and not because Bunt is actually making me go through with this. I'm just mad is all. Mad at everything. Bunt puts his hand on my shoulder and squeezes. "Got to give you credit, Case Man," he says. "Can't say I'd go through with this." Debbie agrees and rubs a soft circle on my back and I'm thinking how lucky we are. How lucky I am. And I'm thinking how stupid it is to be mad when you don't even know why.

§ § §

Mr. Jacobs is a freelance writer in Columbia, South Carolina. He has worked in the corporate world as a public relations and public information writer. His educational background is in creative writing, literature in English, and psychology. He is the recipient of an award for excellence from the South Carolina Press Association.

He is currently writing a series of short stories that concern the disparity between one's prediction of life and the reality of it. He has published fiction in Portfolio literary magazine and is currently researching a novel.

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