Subject: The Old Swimming Hole - Part I
From: awright@falcon.cc.ukans.edu
(Ashley Wright)
Date: 17 Aug 1994 12:07:04 -0400
My cousins and I, along with our teenaged uncle, sprawled with the dogs in the gritty shade of the porch, overcome by the crushing heatwave that had held our town in its grip for eight miserable days. The Good Humour Man and the public pool offered some relief, but only for those folks fortunate enough to have money. Gatlin wanted to go swimming, an impossible dream, since the pool cost 75 cents apiece. Buddy wanted to go to the airconditioned movie theater, slightly less impossible -- if we could scrounge up a dollar, one of us could buy a ticket and let the others in by way of the theater exit, which opened into a alley. But we had been caught sneaking in before and thrown out, and were warned that showing our faces at the Varsity theater would result in the manager immeadiately calling the police chief to arrest us and send us to a school for bad kids.
Asking our parents for money was a laughable prospect. All of us got a small allowance for the chores we did, but once it was spent, that was that. To ask for more money would get you only a lecture about blowing hard-earned cash on junk. Besides, our folks didn't have the cash to spare. We were about one-half step up from what was called 'white trash'-- Junior's Daddy, our Granddaddy Jack, worked long hours as a mechanic, and my Pa was a slave to the local Refinery, along with about 40% of the men over 18 in our community. Gatlin and Buddy's Pa, who was big brother to my Pa and Junior, was doing time, so money was tight. Being 11 , I understood this. But 10 year old Gatlin and 7 year old Buddy couldn't grasp this fact of life, and whined about wanting to go swimming. "Dammit, Junior, I know you got money! I seen you yesterday with five dollars!" Gatlin (who we called Sissy, although she was anything but) cried in frustration, punching our uncle a good one in the shoulder. "Ma gimme that money for groceries!" Junior retorted, shoving her away, "You best quit messin' with me, girl, or I'll beat your skinny ass!" Sissy responded to this as a challenge and shoved him back, saying, "You liar, Junior! You took that money outta the sugarbowl; I seen you do it! And if you don't take us swimmin', I'm gonna tell!! Then we'll see whose skinny ass gets beat!!"
Junior was caught. Buddy and I looked at our leader accusingly -- he'd been holding out on us? No doubt he'd intended to spend the ill-gotten money himself, then like as not pin the blame on us when the theft was discovered. Junior knew he was licked-- if he didn't comply with us, somebody (probably my cousin Buddy, the biggest snitch in the state of Texas, a terrible character flaw that we had unable to beat out of him, despite repeated attempts) would squeal on him to his Mama, who would wear him out. Junior's Mama had a dim view of Sin, and her wrath was, like the Lord's, mighty to behold.
"Okay, okay! You little brats, I'll take you swimmin', dammit! But ya'll keep your mouth shut about that money-- swear!"
We made our solemn oath over Junior's knife, and sealed it by spitting in the dirt, as custom dictated. "Now you've swore," Junior warned darkly, "and if you tell, you'll be a no-good snitch and a squealer; yore tongue'll rot and yore teeth'll fall out, and yore lips'll seal shut 'cause you broke your word. Plus, I'll beat the livin' shit out of yore sorry hides."
Tough little bastards that they were, my cousins ran into the house unafraid, to get their swimming suits. Uncle Junior and I waited on the porch. I was skeptical about the whole thing, and rightly so. "I bet you don't even still have that money. I bet you and your friends spent it on beer and dirty magazines. How're you gonna get outta this one, big mouth? They'll tell."
"No they won't," Junior said confidently, "I said I'd take 'em swimmin; I din't say we'd go t'the pool. It costs nothin' to go to the river, and plenty of people do it." Plenty of people, but not us. We had been warned time after time not to swim in the river; it was an unpredictable, muddy brown giant that crawled sluggish and shallow at some points and roared swift and terrible at others. Periodically it flooded its banks and deluged the neighboring ranchers' land with water; several kids had drowned in it, although none from our town or that we knew. Junior knew as well as I did that the river was off limits. We weren't even supposed to play around on its trecherously steep banks, but my adolescent uncle and his friends drank beer there and skinny dipped. I knew all of this, but I kept my mouth shut, because Junior was my hero, because I wanted to be big and tough and macho, and because only sissies and babies worried about things like getting in trouble or drowning. When I didn't protest, it must have raised me in Junior's esteem, because he said, "Listen, on the way back, I'll let you drive a little. And I'll even let you see what I got with that money." "Don't kid yourself Junior, they ain't gonna let you take the truck." The fact that my uncle was, at 14, underage didn't prevent him from being allowed to drive; the fact that he'd wrecked three cars and got one stuck in a ditch did. His Mama and Daddy would give him the keys to the truck the day they were making snowballs in Hell. My ingenious uncle was not in the least discouraged by this.
"We ain't gonna drive the truck. Listen, I've got an idea-- you kids just do as I say and keep your mouths shut."
Gatlin and Buddy ran back outside, letting the screen door bang against the frame. Mounting our bikes, with Buddy riding double on Sissy's handlebars, we hadn't even hit the red grit of the driveway before we were stopped in our tracks by the voice of unquestionable authority. "You, Junior! Where are you off to with those chill'un?" his Mama called from the porch. I thought the whole thing was up, but my uncle just gave her one of his most dazzling smiles and lied through his teeth as pretty as you please. "We were just goin' by the shop t'see Daddy-- d'ya want me to get anything for you in town?" Grandmama, who was surprisingly fit and good looking for an old lady of 45, looked skeptical, but gave us permission to go with the order, "You run into your sister in town, you tell her to get home and help me with supper,hear?"
We took off before she could change her mind, legs pumping and bicycle wheels churning up the thick rust-colored road grit. We rode the half mile into town, drove by the garage where Junior's Daddy worked, and waved at it, thus turning Junior's story to Grandmama from a real lie into a *white* lie. Then, to our surprise, Junior turned on his bike in the direction opposite of the river. "Junior," Sissy yelled, "this ain't the right way!"
"Shut up and follow me!"he shouted back at her; our uncle had a plan. We were puzzled, but didn't dare not to follow-- if we went back home without him, we would get whipped for riding back home on the highway by ourselves; Junior would get whipped for leaving us; we would all get whipped for lying, and then Sissy, Buddy and I would get the living shit beaten out of us by Junior for getting him in trouble. So we rode a quarter mile out of our way to the Refinery where my Pa worked.
The Refinery towered over the rest of the town, a white monolith with huge blazing smokestacks, giant tankers, and the thick, noxious smell of crude oil. When Pa came home from work, he had to change clothes on the porch-- it stunk that powerful. He had two sets of everything -- boots, jeans, shirts, even drawers-- one for home and one for the Refinery. I didn't know what we were going to do, but I knew if we got caught by one of the employees or the security or a foreman or, God forbid, an all-powerful Manager, we'd be in serious trouble. There was a lot of heavy equipment and dangerous machinery there (not to mention enough pollutants and toxins to single handedly burn off a few feet of the ozone layer), and if a grownup caught us messing around... Junior didn't seem at all nervous, though, he just pulled into the employee's parking lot and rode up to Pa's pride and joy, a two-year old, midnight blue Chevy pickup, bought and paid for. To my surprise, he picked up his bike and threw it in the flatbed. "C'mon," said Junior, "we ain't got all day." Sissy looked at Junior for a second, then shoved Buddy off her bike and he threw it into the flatbed. The three of the them waited for me to throw my bike in. I sat on my bike, chewing my lip and caught in a moral dilemma. Going to the river was bad, and so was messing around the Refinery, and lying to Grandmama. Doing all these things plus taking my Pa's truck for a joyride just seemed to be begging for trouble. But, I rationalized, we'll only get it if we get caught. And Junior had an amazing ability to not get caught. Also, he could talk his way out of anything. Besides, they were going with or without me. Did I really want to be shamed in the eyes of my teenage uncle and hero by acting like a baby? If my younger cousin and his sister were going, my own self-respect demanded that I go too.
"Well, are you gonna go swimmin' or are you gonna sit there all day with your thumb up your butt?" Junior demanded, snapping me back to reality, and I threw my bike into the flatbed.The Refinery was built right on the river, but the water was too nasty to swim in for a good five miles in all directions, so we drove until we came to an old metal bridge over one of the deeper spots. There was a shallow grove off the road's shoulder where all the highschoolers parked when they came down to drink beer and white lightening, swim, and make out. Junior pulled off there so that no passing cars would see us, and we ran down the steep, slick incline of the bank to the water's edge, stripping off our tee shirts as we went. Gatlin and Buddy had worn their swimming suits under their clothes because they'd thought we were going to the pool, but Junior and I stripped off our cut-off jeans and drawers and dove in naked. When I resurfaced, I was shocked to see that my littler cousins were following our example and stripping to the skin. "Hey! Ya'll leave your clothes on!!" I yelled, "Gatlin, yore too old t'go around without anything on!" Cousin Sissy didn't even pause in her undressing, but merely stuck out her tongue defiantly at me and stepped out of her swimsuit, retorting smartly, "Shouldn't be lookin'!" She then jumped in the water, followed by Buddy, and they started shrieking and splashing. I was going to swim over and drag her out, but Junior grabbed my shoulder. "Let 'em go ahead," he reasoned, "This water'd prob'ly ruin their suits anyhow." He had a point; the water was a rich opaque brown, and had a peculiar smell of cold, oily mud, decaying fish and rotten tires. Still, it did cool us off, and the thrill of being in forbidden territory was exhilarating. We swam and played and fought in the water, and before we knew it, two hours had passed. When we heard the locusts begin to sing in the trees, Junior stood up straight, spilling Buddy off his shoulders into the water, and thus forfeiting the chicken-fight. "Shit,"Junior exclaimed, "it's late! Hurry, grab your clothes, you can get dressed in the truck!!" I didn't get to drive, as Junior had promised. Hunched over the wheel, Junior did 80 all the way to the Refinery, swearing the whole time while we struggled to pull our clothes over our dripping bodies in the cramped, stifling, oil-saturated cab of the pickup. Junior pulled into the parking lot, nearly sideswiping a truck, and screeched to a stop. We dragged our bikes from the flatbed and ran two whole blocks, pushing them, before jumping on and frantically racing home.
Just as we were nearly home, and I'd begun to believe we'd gotten away with it, Grandaddy Jack passed us in his pickup, heading home for supper. Gatlin moaned, I almost wrecked my bike in dismay, Junior shouted, "SHIT!" Buddy didn't understand what was wrong, but seeing us so upset, he figured there was trouble and started to whimper. There was trouble, all right, because if Granddaddy Jack got home and Grandmama asked if where we were, he'd reply how the hell should he know, and Grandmama would say well, what'd they say to you when they saw you, and he'd say he hadn't seen us since breakfast.... we gritted our teeth, lowered our heads, and fueled by sheer desparation, pedaled the remaining 1/8th mile home like hell had opened befind us and the very Devil himself was on our heels.
We made it home faster than I would ever have believed possible, eyes watering, mouths dust-choked, a fine layer of grit coating our damp hair and sweat-soaked clothes. We were too late. Junior's Daddy had just beat us; the dust had not yet settled around the wheels of his pickup. Junior jumped off his bike without stopping it and ran into the house. Sissy, Buddy and I did the same, running in breathless and with stomachs knotted, just in time to see Grandaddy Jack paused midway through setting the table, and giving Junior a skeptical look. Junior was in the middle of another artfully created lie, "...But we didn't see yore truck anywhere, so we thought maybe you'd gone into town for gas or to the hardware store or something, so we went to see if we could find you." "More likely, you went in town to try to sneak into the movies or shoplift candy from the drugstore," retorted Junior's sister, who was mashing potatoes.
"That's enough, Lis'beth," Grandaddy said, then to Junior, " I don't know what kinda foolishness you've been up to, boy, but you're lucky you got back in time for dinner." Grandmama saw us standing in the doorway, and said, "Ya'll go get cleaned up for dinner- what've you kids been into now? You, Buddy, what've you got yourself covered with?" My cousin looked at his grime encrusted hands, swallowed hard, and said meekly, "Just dirt, ma'm." Grandaddy Jack asked Junior, eyes narrowed, "Just what were ya'll doin' in town t'get so dirty?" Before Junior could answer, Grandmama grabbed him by the shirt collar, grabbed Sissy by the arm, and started herding us to the washroom, exclaiming, "Never mind how you got so dirty, you just march yourself in there and get yourself clean! And use soap this time, hear? Ya'll ain't settin' down at that table 'til I say you're clean!"
We were crowded around the sink, trying to clean up, and starting to relax when we heard Pa's truck pull up outside. The minute the door slammed, I knew we were caught, and when Pa stormed in the house, banging the screen door and yelling for Junior at the top of his voice, I knew we were in for it. Junior's face, tanned and sunburnt from a summer of playing outdoors, seemed to turn a few shades paler-- but how could PA have caught us? We'd gotten the truck back in time! Grandaddy and *Grandmama* were the ones we had to worry about!
From the kitchen, there was a brief exchange between Pa and Grandmama , which we couldn't hear, then the washroom door slammed open and my Pa stormed in, holding up a pair of Junior's lightening bolts-covered drawers, and demanding to know what Junior's underwear was doing in his truck.
My uncle Junior had never been at a loss for words before to my knowledge, but at that moment, his just stood there, jaw dropped; a look of terrible realization on his face. He stood there for only a moment, because my Pa had hauled his little brother out into the front room and had him by the scruff of the neck, demanding, "Did you use my truck?! Answer me, you little punk, did you?! Did you DO IT with a girl in MY truck?! When I'm off at work, bustin' my ass to make a livin', are you tearin' all over the county with your snot-nosed friends, screwin' girls in the truck I bought and paid for?!"
Pa was shaking Junior so hard his teeth were rattling, but he managed to gasp, "N-no, honest! I-" He never got beyond that, because when Pa heard the word "no", he was like a mad bull. He grabbed Junior around the waist with one arm, and with his free hand, pulled his leather belt out of his jeans. Gatlin, Buddy and I just stood there, watching with a mixture of terror and delight as my Pa cracked his belt against the seat of hapless Uncle Junior's britches.
"Don't you lie to me, boy!" My Pa yelled, "If you din't have a girl in my pickup, what the hell were your drawers doin' in it?!"
Junior kicked and stuggled, but my skinny 5'10 adolescent uncle was no match for his 6'6" brother who was 15 years older and 75 pounds heavier. Working all day loading trucks at the Refinery had given my Pa a deep, barrel chest, powerful shoulders, and biceps and forearms roped with rock-hard muscles. He cried, "I ain't lyin'! OW! Honest! Ouch!! Daddy, make him stop! OH! Please, Luke, I'll--OW!"
Although it seemed to last forever, Pa only whipped Junior for maybe two minutes before Grandmama broke it up and and made him let him go. My uncle and Pa stood there, Pa red-faced, breathing heavy, and furious, and Junior red-faced and rubbing the seat of his bluejeans. Grandaddy Jack said, "You chill'un, git. We'll call you when it's time t'eat." Well, we didn't have to be told more than once! My cousins and I took the first opportunity to run for the back door to freedom. Once we were outside, though, we crept under the porch to listen. We listened with a mixture of shock, awe, and delicious justification as Junior was given the third degree. When Junior confessed he took the truck and we went to the river, my cousins and I exchanged looks of shock and outrage-- Junior was squealing on us!!
"That's it," Sissy said furiously, "I'm goin' in there and tell about that money he took, an' I don't give a hang what he does t'me!" Before she could crawl out from under the porch, though, we were surprised to hear Grandmama's angry raised voice, "Don't you even think you're gonna get outta this by blamin' them chill'un!! I bet you met some of your no-good friends in town an' left those poor chill'un by themselves while you went off to th' river t'drink beer!!" "No, Mama, honest--"
"Don't you lie t'yore Mama, boy!!" (smack!) "But Daddy--OW! I ain't lyin'! OW!" Then, from under the porch steps, we crouched and watched in delight as Junior was dragged down the steps and over to the peach tree, with Grandmama keeping a firm grip on his ear as she twisted off a good sized switch and proceeded to whale the tar out of him.
"But Mama--OW!" "Don't you 'but Mama' me! ...I'm gonna beat yore butt three shades of blister blue! ...I've had it with you blamin' them other kids for what you do, and for lyin', and drinkin', and I know damn well what happened t'that money that was in th' sugarbowl--!" I watched, transfixed, an incredulous grin of sadistic glee spreading across my face as Junior's Mama held him firmly by the back of the neck, slightly bent over one leg, and delivered a stinging whipping with the switch to the background of his protests.
"It's true, I done all them things! I admit it!! But, honest, I din't leave th' li'l kids alone in town t'day t'go drinkin'! We went t' th riv--OH! OW! OW!That smarts, Mama-- Okay! Okay! I admit it! I did it! You're right!" "You did what?!" Demanded Grandmama, not even out of breath. "I left th' chill'un in town an' went t' the river an' drank beer and skinnydipped!" My cousins and I were amazed yet again. Junior had deliberately told a lie that put himself in the wrong! Even more astonding, when he had told the truth, he'd gotten whipped for lying!
Grandmama stood, switch in hand, a look of grim satisfaction on her face. Junior was red-faced and wiping snot and tears from his face with one had and rubbing his stinging butt with the other. He started to slink into the house, grateful that his Mama was no longer whuppin' up on him with the fury of a caged cyclone, but Grandaddy Jack stopped him and said, "You ain't done yet, boy! Now that your Ma's through warmin' you up, it's MY turn! Get out t'that shed an' get your britches down!" Junior's face turned white. Tears formed in his eyes; his lip quivered, "But PA," he whined, "I'm already wore out--"
He was cut off my his Daddy grabbing him by the ear and growling, "I'm gonna give you 'wore out' if you keep up this sassy back-talk! Now, you march your sorry butt out there t'that shed and git yore britches down before I whip you so hard your nose bleeds buttermilk!!"
For the next fifteen minutes, I and my cousins listened as justice was blissfully served. From our delapitated storage shed, we heard every minute of Junior's humiliation, from his sniveling and bawling to his Daddy's stern lecture ( "Are you ever gonna lie t'me and your mama again?!" "OW! Nosir!!" "Are you ever gonna blame somebody else for somethin' you done?! "OW! OW! NOSIR!" "Are you gonna do as your told?" "Nos-- Yessir! YESSIR! OH! OW!") to every crack of the strap as Junior got his well-deserved licks. It was like music.