“Tom! Hey Tom, where’d you put the gun?” I heard Jeffee call from out back. Bein’ a lazy butt Saturday mornin’ I only want to roll over and stuff the pillow up my ears. But friends are friends right? I shouted from where I was laid out, “Where you left it ya big doofus!”
“And where’s that?” he yelled back. I stretched looking up at the yellow-brown rain- stained ceiling. “Well, why don't you go check up in the fort.”
Rusted boards nailed two years back squawked as he climbed up the old oak, ten feet from the window, up to the tree house we’d built. From where I lay, I imagined I could hear catfish talking in the river. From where I lay, I see the empty bed of my brother Jim, gone.
“Hey Tom, we still got some live night-crawlers?”
Moments later after a few pops of zinging Bee Bee's, Jeffee called back, “Yeah, but they’re kinda slow now. Hey, ya wanna go drown ‘em an see we can catch a few?”
“Yeah, you?”
“Do do that voodoo, that you do so well” sang Jeffee back at me then starting to whistle the star spangled banner off tune, punctuating the high notes with the gun_ pop, ping, pop, ping, pop, ping, pummeling the rotted out 'private' sign hanging on the fence.
Heaving myself up I quickly dressed, washed my face, peeling a bit dead skin off last week’s sunburn, leaving a bright pink sore mark on my nose. After feeding Jim's goldfish and feeling slightly guilty over not cleaning its bowl, I tried to fix my sleep mussed hair into place- pointless no matter how much gel. I tossed the comb aside. Grabbing an apple in the kitchen, pushing the screen door aside for a fly or two going out, I stepped out and stretched again facing the day.
It was a damp warm day. Standing on the porch for a few minutes to get my bearings on the morning, I couldn’t help but think of Jim leaving last year. Casting a tall proud shadow just a bit larger than life, he shoved the bill of my cap down over my face. “See ya ‘round squirt. You be good to ma while I’m gone and don’t do anything I wouldn’t. Eyes still covered I knew he winked like he always did when bein’ big brother. Pushing the cap back I mumbled “Sure thing” and poked him in the ribs while he bear hugged me. It seemed unreal him pushing back then, slinging the duffel bag on his shoulder and walking off to war. I couldn’t tell you why I cried then. I was proud of him and I suppose a bit jealous as well, but I wasn’t no sissy.
Jeffee was lookin’ funny at me as he walked up. “You moping on again? C’mon, you know Jim's goin’a teach ‘em. They shoulda’ known not to mess with the U.S. of A. with guys like him around. ‘Sides, he can pick a sparrow off a flagpole blindfold.”
“I know,” I sighed, “you got the worms?”
“Do I got worms the man asks, do I got the worms?” knuckle punching my arm, Jeffee ran on ahead calling back at me, “I’ll have a stringer full before you get there!” Tossing the apple core at his running behind, with pole and the tackle box in hand I shot out after him. He could have been my twin, ‘sept he had a mop of red curls instead of an unruly yellow top, and a purple black shiner from a run in with a local bully last week that just ‘bout shut his right eye. Bare foot and in coveralls we set out walking the mile and a half to the river.
It’s funny how much noise can pass between to boys not saying a thing on a country road and how much that really means. Occasionally picking up and tossing stones, or kicking them out in front, till they flip off to the side of the road and laziness to lay any toe-claim prevailed.
Halfway there, I went silent with the passing of the telegram man peddling his bike in the opposite direction. Sure, it coulda’ meant anything, but for me, it meant one, only one. I thought painfully back to Jim and how a couple years before the war the girls and his preoccupation with them came along to steal him. He hardly time for me then, except when he needed help detailing his red Chevy for a date.
“Lotsa folks live out here,” Jeffee said reassuring, momentarily breaking empty space between the calling swamp birds. I buried myself deeper into dark thoughts and walked on, not wanting to talk about it. “It could be anything right?” Guts knotted up, like the mass of worms twisting ‘round a hook and a ripple went through my hide.
Frogs ker-plunked themselves down to safety when we reached the sluggish muddy water. “I need a new hook.” “Help yourself” I mumbled, baited, cork set I tossed , sinking myself in too.
The pole woke me seconds later. “Dang, you got one already,” he said in awe as I pulled up a catfish pushing the low end of four pounds. Memories of Jim showing me how to hold a catfish, without getting stabbed by its dorsal fin, flickered and went out. Putting the fish on the stringer, I reached for the worm can. Once more I was awakened from my trance by the tugging. I repeated the process from time to time as the afternoon wore on. Stagnant water stank and the bobber was forever going down. Jeffee talked his small talk to my muted silence till finally it was late.
We walked fast the way back, our arms aching from the catch. Lightning bugs raced frenetically before us all the way leaving their trails of life in the growing darkness. Jeffee must have called goodnight to me, leaving me to stumble numbly the last couple blocks. Why he left me alone just then when I thought I needed him most I'd only half guess at later on.
Mom home from work, still in her waitress apron, sat stone faced sunk at the kitchen table. Open in front of her, flattened out, was a rumpled yellow telegram. I could see the five words I'd expected and feared most written across its top. “Ah honey- Tom,” her voice trailed, “it's Jim...” Going to the sink I skinned the still flopping fish; if they croaked out in protest, I didn't notice.
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