The kitchen door to the back porch swung open, slamming into the wooden hand rail and silencing us. All eyes jerked towards my mom as she stomped onto the wooden porch. “Oh boy,” I muttered.
Grabbing the railing, mom leaned over, stretching towards us to get a better look at what was going on in the neighbor’s driveway, “Jesus, Mary and Joseph, Beasley! Is that my hamper in the driveway? Is it? Tell me right now young man. What in Joseph’s name are you doing with my hamper? And, and where the hell are my clothes?”
“Mom, I caught some fish, look. The brook flooded and…”
She exploded, “Fish! Fish? Are you telling me there’s a dirty fish in my hamper?”
My friends were silent. They knew a goner when they saw one. Trying to tone down the screaming I attempted to slow my words and reason. “Two fish, Mom. They were trapped. When the brook flooded. And they got stuck. I saved them.” Given my mom’s devotion to the Church, I went for broke, “Like Jesus. He had two fish.”
She leaned back and glared, first speaking slowly then incrementally raising her voice so the final words fell upon the driveway like a tidal wave, “I see. Like Jesus. Perhaps then you can go get a couple of loaves of bread, invite some more of your Godforsaken friends to stand around my hamper and then you can feed the entire neighborhood! Why not? How ‘bout it, Beasley?”
I returned to silence. William stepped forward and poked one of the 18” fish with a stick. The fish swirled about in a circle opening its mouth gulping for freedom as William bravely joined the conversation, “I don’t think so, Mrs. Kinkade. It has something gross, something swollen, on its side. No one is gonna want to eat this guy.”
She stamped her foot so hard, bees scattered from under the porch. “Where are my clothes?”
All eyes turned towards me. They wore sympathy. “Ah, uh, don’t worry they’re not in here, mom. I uh, I uh, dumped them in the basement.”
Mom stormed down the steps and tore her apron off throwing it on the grass as she marched across the lawn. None of this would have happened if she hadn’t spied us from her kitchen window across from the LeBlanc’s driveway. I shook my head. “I shouda known better,” I mumbled.
It was from this same window she had watched the LeBlanc family move from Canada into the neighboring house just over a year ago. Minding her business in the kitchen she smiled as the moving truck and family station wagon disgorged the neighbor’s belongings and the neighborhood’s newest kids, Mario and William. She watched as they ran into our yard to try out our Sears swing set. Before mom made it to the back door to say hello, my brother KJ and I had dropped our street hockey gear, bolted from the driveway and pulled the benevolent boys off the swings, throwing them to the ground. The two new neighboring moms met over the tangle of their fighting children, with mom finally peeling me off a wailing Canadian by the hair and throwing me to the ground, gasping for breath like my new fish and staring at me in horror.
Today she wore the same look as she stormed across the yard towards her hamper. KJ and the two Canadian brothers stepped back leaving me alone with my fish and her hamper. I didn’t want to meet the same misfortune as John the Baptist so I stepped behind the fish hoping they would save me. I doubted it.
The hamper was an old plastic diaper bin, capable of holding 25 gallons or so. Mom used it for whites and “delicates” as she called them. After William and I had discovered the trapped fish in the flooded brook this morning I ran home to find a five gallon paint bucket to scoop up the flailing fish with the intent of dumping them into our bathtub upstairs. When investigating the tub, I noticed the plastic hamper in the nearby closet. Thinking quickly I grabbed it, ran to the basement and dumped all the whites and underwear on the floor next to the old Sears washing machine.
Empty hamper in hand, William and I ran back to our friend the brook to turn fish into pets. With the recent rains the brook flooded, surging violently. Normally, the brook was a peaceful babbling stream no more than a foot deep. Meandering along the bottom of a small ravine parallel to The Boulevard, a relatively busy two lane street running through our neighborhood, the brook was our dear friend.
We loved the brook and spent hours in her company. We played within a one block span framed by two low-slung concrete overpasses under which the brook flowed. With water at a normal level we removed our Keds to creep under the two street bridges, yelling to create echoes, splashing each other with the biggest rocks we could find and peeing in private because we were having too much fun to go home just to use the bathroom. Under these two bridges darkness rested; I imagined this was where night slept during the day. The only noise was the periodic hum of traffic from the street above and the murmur of the brook at our feet. Save for our yelling and splashing, it was peaceful.
The upstream bridge offered a place of shelter, of rest. Walking upstream, I could touch the ceiling under the bridge and quietly walk to the midpoint, where a thick black cast iron pipe crossed the brook about two feet above the water. On hot days we slipped under the bridge and sprawled across the cool pipe listening in silence to water below and the passerby and traffic above.
The downstream bridge presented an end point. As opposed to a welcoming pipe on which children would find peace, the second bridge covered a rusted chain link fence built across the stream. Under the bridge, the fence collected rubbish and floating branches from the brook before allowing the filtered stream to exit the far end of the bridge into a private area bound by the backyards of a line of nice houses.
The men from the DPW periodically visited the second bridge to clear out debris captured by the fence under the bridge. “This is the stupidest thing I ever saw,” I heard the foreman complain the first time I saw them there. “They put a fuck’n fence under a bridge just so those folks,” he said as he jerked his head downstream, “don’t have to look at garbage. Stupid, man. Just stupid.” Finally noticing me, the foreman asked, “You live downstream, kid?”
“No, I live up the hill, that way,” I said pointing. “Hey can I help you guys?”
“Just stay away from this fence kid. I don’t wanna be fishing you outta here too. This brook, when it rains, she can turn on you.” I stared blankly, having never thought of the brook as a she.
“Hey, kid, on second thought, you can help me; by running home and getting us some beers. That’ll help.” The guys were still laughing as I ran the two blocks, cutting through yards to make it home in a search for beer. Finding none in our house, I returned with a six pack of Cokes for the guys, “Hey Mister, I couldn’t find beer so I got this for you.” They left a Coke for me and let me watch. The next time, after I said I couldn’t get any more soda because my dad smacked me for snatching his Cokes, they let me help.
And I remained on good terms with the brook for years. Across her span of open stream we floated model boats, built damns and constructed stone bridges, played war among the rocks, attempted unsuccessfully to jump the stream on our bikes like Evel Knievel and, in winter we used the banks for cover as we pelted passing cars on the Boulevard with snowballs.
Today the brook was angry. Engorged with overflow, she smelled like dirt and sewage, belching out brown water from under the first bridge, greedily snatching away the banks from her neighbors, the bushes and plants, before rudely jamming herself under the second bridge; the bridge with the fence. Usually above her reach, the archway of tree branches and limbs were curtly slapped away as they tried to dip their curious fingers into her newly formed rapids.
Returning to the brook to catch fish with the hamper, William and I could not help but stare. The brook’s normal gurgling and bubbling sounds were replaced by a rush of water and the periodic cracking of branches. As we stared a log burst from under the first bridge, lurching past us and, slamming into the side of the second bridge, splintering before disappearing under into the darkness.
I grabbed William’s arm, “Whoa! Did you see that! That thing shattered, man. That was so cool. I bet the fence got it! Let’s get more stuff to throw in,” I urged, nodding towards the upstream bridge.
Without answering, William began scrounging for sticks and branches. I laid the hamper down by the edge of the road as we walked up and down the Boulevard looking for crap to toss in. I found some good sized tree branches but William won the search as he came upon a cracked 2 by 4 and a waterlogged tennis ball.
“Come on,” he yelled, “To tha bridge!” William helped me drag an oversized tree limb towards the first bridge. A couple of cars slowed to investigate as we pulled the branch to the bridge. We caught our breath before shoving it up onto the three foot concrete wall overlooking the brook. “Ready?” I shouted over the roar below.
“Wait,” William hollered over the rapids. “Let me throw the ball in first.” I gave him the thumbs up as he placed the lonely ball in the middle of the thick concrete wall. Slowly it rolled forward before plopping into the rapids and disappearing.
He held his hands up in victory then pointed downstream, “Look; down there. Holy shit, man! It was under water that whole time. Like a commie submarine. It’s going… under the bridge. Outrageous, man! Outrageous. Let’s do your log.”
We rolled the limb towards the edge of the wall preparing it for a final ride. A car slowed to a stop directly behind us, piercing our private world, “You kids, be careful now, OK? You stay up here and away from that water. Understand?”
Startled, I turned. I wanted to tell the old guy to fuck off but held my tongue, “We’re cool, man. Thanks.” He continued to idle his car as I turned to William, “Let’s just do this.” William joined me as I started to count, “One, two, three!”
We shoved the limb over the edge. It hit the torrent below and was sucked forward, flipping end over end before shooting straight down the middle of the brook, smacking overhead limbs from its path. We leaned forward, straining to follow the limb before it finally disappeared under the second bridge. “Fuck’n A, man. So cool! So cool!” William slapped my back, “That was totally cool, man.”
I turned to our interloper, “Mister, did you see that? Got anything you want to chuck in here, Mister?” Put off by our hysteria and assured we were just tossing branches over the side, he drove away. We lobbed everything within reach over the edge as our imaginations were swept away by the power of the angry brook. With nothing left within reach we stood, staring at the rapids.
“Oh shit, man. Shit! We forgot the fish! Fuck’n A!” William followed me as I ran to the last known location of the fish. They were still there, stuck in what we called a whirlpool; a dead end formed by a series of rocks and the forward pressure of the current.
Retrieving the hamper from the side of the road we slowly slid down the bank, feet first, towards the water. With the banks wet with spray, we struggled to control our slide, could not stop and ended up standing in the little rotating whirlpool. No harm done. Along the side, the rapids were not overwhelming. “I got ‘em, Bease. Give me that hamper thing.” I tossed the hamper to William as he tried to scoop up a fish without success. “Let me try.” I slipped in next to William. By now we were knee deep in the side pocket of water. The fish were a good 18 inches or so and did not follow instructions well. Frustrated, I tried to punch the nearest fish, lost my balance and fell down drenching myself. William burst out laughing.
“Help me up, Will. Man, my mom’s gonna kill me now.”
Shaking his head he pulled me up. Realizing the fish did not want to be caught we finally tilted the hamper on its side with the open end facing upstream so it partially filled with water. We waited and eventually first one, then two, ugly fish simply floated into the hamper. Turning it right side we secured our new pets and tried to lug the water-filled hamper up the bank.
“Ugh, Bease, Andre the Giant couldn’t lift this thing. It’s way too heavy man. Way too heavy.”
We tilted the hamper against the bank and drained as much water as possible. With the fish trying to wriggle out, I yelled at William, “Hold him, down, Willy. Come on, they’re gonna get away.”
“I’m not touching that thing! It’s gross, Bease. Look at it!”
The fish were gross. They looked beaten. Scratches ran across their stripes. “You’re a big pussy,” I yelled as I grabbed a fish and shoved him under water. He quickly squirmed from my grasp but not before we had dumped enough water to make the hamper manageable. “Come on, help me carry this thing.”
We carried the hamper across the Boulevard and up the street before tiring. We ended up dragging it up the sidewalk and across lawns, gauging scratches matching those on the fish into the bottom of the hamper. “If my mom asks, just say those scratches were already there, OK?” Knowing that fish tale was not going to fly William nodded anyway.
We made it to the driveway and used the hose on the side of William’s house to fill the hamper the rest of the way. “There, that’ll make ‘em happy, huh?” As our brothers joined us we formed a little circle around the fish, watching them swim in circles. We tossed out ideas regarding what the fish were thinking.
“Where are we, man?”
“Is this Heaven?”
“Where’s my family? Where are my babies?”
“How do we get outa here?”
“I’m scared.”
“Do you think they’ll eat us?
“We’re fucked.”
“Thank God we’re outa that crazy brook, man. We’re saved.”
Our bantering lasted about two minutes before mom slammed the kitchen door into the wooden hand railing, silencing us.
“Oh boy.”
I positioned the hamper and our two fish between me and mom. On the other side of the hamper, she jerked to a stop, placed both hands on her hips and screamed. “My God. They, they, they… they’re disgusting; utterly disgusting.” Her head seemed to move in a small circle as the pair circled her hamper. “I. Am. Furious.”
Without warning she wound up and cracked me in the side of the head. “Get these fish out of my hamper and clean it immediately. I want you to scrub this thing with bleach. Understand?”
I didn’t flinch. Being reminded later by your friends that you flinched was as bad as getting hit. I put my hand up to my left cheek. It was warm were mom caught me. “Mom, wha, what’s your problem. They’re just fish. They’re just fish.”
“Get them out of my hamper. Now!”
“What should I do with them, then, huh? Throw ‘em in the street? Eat em?”
William shook his head back and forth, “I don’t think so, Bease.”
Mom’s head moved like that of a predator, “Zip it, William.”
Turning to me she summarized a likely scenario in my immediate future. “I am going inside the house to get my clothing off the floor and into the wash and then, when I come back out here, the only thing I better see is the back of your head as you scrub the inside of this hamper. Now move!”
Breaking his silence, KJ, shrugged. “I’m outa here.” Sensing a no win situation he and William’s brother turned and walked away.
“Fine, then. I’ll toss them back in the brook. See if I care if they die, mom! See if I care!”
I started dragging away the hamper, stopping as mom started screaming again. “You’re ruining my hamper dragging it across the gravel. Oh my God, just pick it up and get outa here!” William jumped to my aid as we waddled up the driveway and then down the street with the hamper, periodically dumping water to lighten our load.
From a distance we heard the brook. Like my mom she was still angry, roaring at us from a distance. William started to the upstream bridge but I stopped him, pulling him downstream, “Let’s dump them downstream. I don’t want ‘em smashin’ against the bridge like our log or stuck in the fence under there, ya know.”
William shrugged and we continued the final steps of our waddle. Approaching the second bridge, we heaved the hamper up on the wall and slowly poured our friends over the far side, introducing them to the downstream portion of the brook.
“Go swim with the rich folks, fishes.” We watched for a moment and then lost them as they scurried away just under the boiling surface.
“I was right,” William suggested.
Confused, I stopped looking for the fish and turned towards William, “’Bout what? What are you talk’n about?”
“We’re saved.’ That’s what they were thinking. ‘We’re saved.”
We stood for a moment before I wheeled and turned, “Willy, follow me.”
I marched upstream to the first bridge with William following right behind me. “Look, I’m goin’ in. I’ll be like Apollo splashing down and you be the SS Ticonderoga pulling me out of the water if I need ya, OK?”
“The what? I don’t know, Bease. Those branches got smashed up pretty bad. I wouldn’t.”
Ignoring William’s trepidation I stopped at the wall of the upstream ridge.
“Look, I’m not going near that thing,” I said nodding my chin towards the second bridge. “I’ll jump off in the hamper from here, maybe a little closer to the side, and push myself towards the banks where the fish were. I’ll land in the little whirlpool; by where we just were. Yeah, and if I’m goin’ too fast I’ll use my arms to paddle over to you. And in the worst, super-worse, case, I’ll just grab onto the branches ‘till you pull me out. You know, like how they get the astronauts when they splash down. You fish me out.”
William grabbed the hamper, “Don’t. Just don’t do it, man. Look at her. Look how angry she is. What do ya think she’ll do if you jump on top of her like this? She’ll be as mad as your mom. Madder.”
I yanked the hamper back, “Give me the fuck’n hamper. I’m going in. Now. Just do me a favor and get over there.” I saddled up onto the wall and slipped my feet into the hamper, encasing my legs. My heart leaped as I tottered back and forth before grabbing the edge to steady myself. “Whoa, that was close!” I feigned a smile as I looked down at the screaming brown water. She was angry. Again, a car slowed to a stop on the road behind me. “Hey kid, get off a there. You’re gonna get killed. Get off.”
I twisted around, “I’m fine, Mister. Come on, I got a friend right there.” The guy shut off the car and watched me as I turned to William, gave him the astronaut’s thumbs up and slid off the slide towards the rapids 5-6 feet below.
With me standing tall in my 25 gallon capsule, the bottom of the hamper slammed into the rapids as if hitting concrete. My legs collapsed as I buckled down with the force of the impact. The hamper lurched out from under me and I smacked my head against the foot of the concrete bridge before falling into the water. It was freezing. Like a shot, I was sucked forward. Mission failure.
The last thing I saw before going under was my mom’s hamper hurtling downstream, jerking like a tumbleweed in an old fashion movie across the top of the rapids.
Roaring brown currents filled my ears. I went under. Out of control, I somersaulted underwater, trying to protect my head from the rocks below. I scraped along the bottom, catching my shirt on something. It tore open. Trying to breath I sucked in her brown rapids. My chest convulsed as water spewed from my mouth, returning it to its rightful place. My eyes stayed open the whole time as I tried to grab towards the lighter brown water rolling above me. I hit a large rock and was thrown upwards, breaking the surface.
“Beasley!”
I stayed up, gasping as I bolted past William. Terrified, I tried to jam my feet into the rocks along the bottom. I couldn’t feel bottom. I tried to yell and swallowed water, “Hel-ap!”
Coughing violently, I fought to keep my head up as the second bridge raced towards me. I looked up just in time to see the hamper crash into the edge of the concrete, fold in half and disappear under the bridge. The brook had mom’s hamper.
I grabbed wildly towards the archway of branches as they reached towards me from above. Deferring to the wishes of the angry brook the branches let slip through my fingers. Gasping, I thought to myself, “Oh my God, I’m going go under, gonna hit the fence. Please. Oh, God.”
I tried to pull myself towards the bank and lunged for a downed limb spanning a portion of the brook. My feet pulled forward as if sucked by a vacuum. I held my arms up to try and hook the limb, hitting my face hard, harder than my mom had hit me, and grabbing tight. I saw stars. My feet continued to pull downstream, tugged forward by the brook’s greed. She was mad and she was gonna make me pay. My face pushed against the limb as I kept trying to hook my arms around it. My legs felt warm and I couldn’t tell if I peed my pants. I guess it didn’t matter now. I craned my neck, pushing my chin harder into the limb, trying everything to resist her pull. I slipped. Slowly I scraped against the bark, cutting my chin, then my lip. I held on, squeezing.
From below her surface the brook pulled me. From behind she poured freezing water down my torn shirt. I felt her fingers grabbing me from below, groping for my legs, now horizontal with the top of the water. She shoved me from behind as my chin pulled away from the bark and I went under. I saw the brown swirl jumping over me, getting darker and wearing me down. Inviting me to give in. My arms burned as she continued to claw at me.
“Just hold on. Just, hold on. Someone. Someone will come. Someone’s gotta see me. Maybe the DPW guys? Oh man, what if no one sees me? What if they pull me from the fence?”
In the distance, perhaps in the past, I heard yelling. Screams mixed with the roar of the current. I couldn’t tell if it was mom or the brook. I couldn’t tell.
I pulled my face up and sucked in my last breath. I tasted blood. And dirt. My hands were raw and started to slip.
I tried to dig my fingers into the bark, “Just hold on. Just hold on.”
“Oh man, this can’t be it. It just can’t be. I’m just a kid; I, I wanna grow up. I wanna be someone.”
I closed my eyes as I went under one last time, thinking, “I never kissed a girl.”
I felt clawing at my neck, at my hair; pulling me by the collar, by the sleeve. I couldn’t hold any longer.
“I’m not. I’m not gonna… not gonna say it. I, I…”
Finally, I ran out of breath. Gagging, I drew in a mouthful of brook.
She had me. I opened my eyes to see flickers of sunlight darting through the angry brown surface, forming shapes, like dancing triangles, just above my face, reaching towards me. I felt her embrace.
I let go.
