POSEY'S POND
Droopy cedars, skirted with huckleberry underbrush, lined both sides of the canyon. Somewhere, high in the trees, two cranky crows cawed and below them Salmon Creek glistened in the late afternoon sun.
Josh hurried back from lunch and slipped and slid down the steep trail that led to the creek. Halfway down, he turned left toward a clump of bushes where he and Amy built a hideout that morning. Amy sat in the cleared-out center of the brush. She ran a sleeve across her brow.
“It's hot -- let's go up to Posey's Pond.”
“We ain't got swimming suits.”
Amy wrinkled her nose. “Don't need any.”
They sauntered a half-mile up the road then approached a well-worn trail that made an easy descent to the creek. Years ago, Frank Posey and his neighbors had built an earthen dam across Salmon Creek to create a pond for their irrigation water pumps.
Josh looked worried. “Will Mr. Posey get mad if we swim here?”
“Nah -- I come down here all the time and he never yells at me or nothin'.”
As Amy took off her clothes and folded them Josh turned his head. She strode out on the dam, then looked back. “Come on -- you chicken?”
“What if someone sees us?”
She shook her short-cropped hair. “Who cares?” Amy dipped a toe in the water, then straightened up. She was slender with a slightly arched back and small breasts. She faced Josh, jammed her hands on hips, pointed her elbows out and moved them back and forth. “Come on, buk-buk.”
They slid in and the cold water made Amy squeal. Josh held his finger to his lips as he looked up the side of the canyon. They dog-paddled and splashed around for a few minutes, then climbed out and sat on their clothes in the dappled sunlight. While Josh looked for pan trout, Amy laid back with closed eyes.
She leaned up on an elbow, smirked and touched his leg. “Want to do it?”
“Do what?”
She frowned, “Well, duh? You know -- IT. Aw, you haven't done it, chicken.”
“Have too. Lots of times.”
“How many?”
Josh picked up a pebble and flipped it into the pond. “Don't remember how many. Just lots of times. Have you?”
“Sure." Amy sat up and looked down at him.
"You're gettin' hard. Do it with me.”
“Someone will see us. Might be somebody up there.”
“So? Who cares?”
Josh rolled over on her and she guided him in. A few wiggles, a small grunt and he slid out and off with eyes jammed shut. “Come on -- let's get out of here.”
Amy stretched out on her clothes. "You go on, buk-buk. School starts next week and I ain't done swimmin'."
"Meet ya about five at the hideout." Josh pulled on his jeans and tied his tennis shoes, then hurried up the path.
Josh sat in the hideout and muttered . “Amy said she'd be here right at five o'clock. I've waited almost an hour. Bah, girls -- I'm goin' over to the ball field and see if the guys are there. Girls . . .”
Leaves drifted by on a darkened Salmon Creek and a crawdaddy kicked up puffs of mud as he hurried home for supper. The smell of damp ferns wafted through the the air as water swirled over smooth stones.
Silt collected in the ashen body's belly button.
Josh hurried back from lunch and slipped and slid down the steep trail that led to the creek. Halfway down, he turned left toward a clump of bushes where he and Amy built a hideout that morning. Amy sat in the cleared-out center of the brush. She ran a sleeve across her brow.
“It's hot -- let's go up to Posey's Pond.”
“We ain't got swimming suits.”
Amy wrinkled her nose. “Don't need any.”
They sauntered a half-mile up the road then approached a well-worn trail that made an easy descent to the creek. Years ago, Frank Posey and his neighbors had built an earthen dam across Salmon Creek to create a pond for their irrigation water pumps.
Josh looked worried. “Will Mr. Posey get mad if we swim here?”
“Nah -- I come down here all the time and he never yells at me or nothin'.”
As Amy took off her clothes and folded them Josh turned his head. She strode out on the dam, then looked back. “Come on -- you chicken?”
“What if someone sees us?”
She shook her short-cropped hair. “Who cares?” Amy dipped a toe in the water, then straightened up. She was slender with a slightly arched back and small breasts. She faced Josh, jammed her hands on hips, pointed her elbows out and moved them back and forth. “Come on, buk-buk.”
They slid in and the cold water made Amy squeal. Josh held his finger to his lips as he looked up the side of the canyon. They dog-paddled and splashed around for a few minutes, then climbed out and sat on their clothes in the dappled sunlight. While Josh looked for pan trout, Amy laid back with closed eyes.
She leaned up on an elbow, smirked and touched his leg. “Want to do it?”
“Do what?”
She frowned, “Well, duh? You know -- IT. Aw, you haven't done it, chicken.”
“Have too. Lots of times.”
“How many?”
Josh picked up a pebble and flipped it into the pond. “Don't remember how many. Just lots of times. Have you?”
“Sure." Amy sat up and looked down at him.
"You're gettin' hard. Do it with me.”
“Someone will see us. Might be somebody up there.”
“So? Who cares?”
Josh rolled over on her and she guided him in. A few wiggles, a small grunt and he slid out and off with eyes jammed shut. “Come on -- let's get out of here.”
Amy stretched out on her clothes. "You go on, buk-buk. School starts next week and I ain't done swimmin'."
"Meet ya about five at the hideout." Josh pulled on his jeans and tied his tennis shoes, then hurried up the path.
Josh sat in the hideout and muttered . “Amy said she'd be here right at five o'clock. I've waited almost an hour. Bah, girls -- I'm goin' over to the ball field and see if the guys are there. Girls . . .”
Leaves drifted by on a darkened Salmon Creek and a crawdaddy kicked up puffs of mud as he hurried home for supper. The smell of damp ferns wafted through the the air as water swirled over smooth stones.
Silt collected in the ashen body's belly button.
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Author's Note
A brief commentary on our times.
Other stories by Ramon Collins
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I enjoyed this piece, Ramon. Good form.
This is a very nostalgic piece. I was transported into a different past; great dialogue, description.
One of my favorites: "two cranky crows cawed..."
Subtle yet effective ending.
Really nice.
there is a mood and feeling that surrounds this story, a moment in life, that took me somewhere and held me. I like this very much.
Oof. What a punch line! This is a powder keg: explosive story with great characters and riveting action. Wow.
So well written, Ramon. The setting, the characters, the dialogue, the story itself all have been honed to perfection. Nice.
Such subtle foreshadowing, made the ending even more chilling. Like the others said, the story transports to another, more lanquid and innocent time. Peace...
Moving story, Ramon.
Love this: "cedars, skirted with huckleberry underbrush". I'm with Linda on the ending.
Thanks Sam, Jules, Meg, Jack, Susan, Linda, Beate and Martha. I appreciate your time and attention.
About the ending: To start off the first online class I took (1997), Dr. Carlos used a method of regression for prompts: Your First Day at School, Your First Adventure, Your First "Time", etc. On the Time theme, there were 14 female students and Our Hero. Things got a little syrupy.
I thought, "Hey, wait a minute -- boys have 'first times', too." Fortunately, it didn't end in tragedy. In today's world, it might.
The setting makes the piece, for me. It is lovely. And it’s one of the reasons the ending is so powerful. The setting frames and enhances the innocence, the slow summer day, the beauty of nature, the youth of the characters, even the grim close.
Love the faraway time and place, and the sense of innocence makes the tragic ending even more powerful.
The mood here is perfect. Nice summer piece. Sweet and innocent, and then not. The dialogue is also done so effortlessly -- I admire that.
And the way she calls him buk-buk: that is just great.
Really good flash, Ramon, with lovely descriptives and a tone that feels just slightly ominous (though you don't overdo it). This is so true to life, the setting, the dialog, the characters. That last image is very powerful. Good stuff.
Kari, Kim, Michelle and Kathy: High praise, indeed! I admire the way the four of you put a story together. Perhaps I'm learning by osmosis . . .
A special kind of story with so much charm and the beauty of yesteryear and then of course the ending which is a powerful close.
*
Susan: Thank you for the read and comment. I tried to make the story compact and honest.
Always happy to find things I've missed here--especially something so rich with details.*
I'm thankful Susan chose this little gem to discuss with you, Ramon. Love it.
what a wonderful memory. Wish I had a Posey Pond.
Great story, found this via the Monday Chat and loved it at first sight. It is tender and well observed. Like a stream of clear water, something to aspire to backwards, if that makes any sense, or for our own children, grandchildren...the possibility of love.
Susan, Jane, Joani, Estelle and Marcus: Gorsh -- you guys are real writers! I thank Susan for the opportunity to babble.
As for being candid about dark secrets: my background is in art, not literature. As an art student, a noted artist (Guy Anderson) told me; “Creativity is all about honesty and few have it."
Great setting, joy in simple words. Mixed feelings about the ending. Hey, you made me think! :) Worth many a read!