Childhood summers are often remniscent of two main events - fun and trouble. It was hard to seperate the two, my thirst for exotic adventures in the confines of my own backyard rarely sated unless the escapade ended in near misses with the iron fist of the law, in most cases my mother. Perhaps that is why, in the summer of my thirteenth year, I listened to my cousin and thereby ended up in one of the biggest debaucles of my kid life.
We all stood at the wooden fence, my toes digging into the cool dirt while I peered into the open field in front of us, admonitions to stay out of trouble having conveniently faded from memory as I contemplated the exploit posed by my cousin, Brianna. Matti, ever the law abider and also my baby sister who had the most annoying habit of looking out for me, was skeptical.
"I don't know, Bree," she hesitated, her nasally ten year old voice grating on my nerves. I was GOING into that field.
Still, I had to cover my own tracks in case the FBI later investigated our potential catastrophe and discovered that I was heedless and therefore deserving of the repercussions, so I asked again.
"You're SURE it's okay?"
"Yeah, Mr. Bateman won't care at all!"
"So we won't get shot with his machine gun for trespassing?"
I stole a glance at Matti, smirking at the look of terror on her face. Gosh, I was such an evil big sister.
After much prodding and persuading, along with manipulative tactics such as, "Only babies are scared," we all crossed the threshold and set our flip-flopped feet onto foreign ground.
The birds soared overhead and the sun beat down on us as we ventured further and further from my cousin's house and irrevocably into mischief. Recent rains had left the ground soft with damp dirt and gave a cool edge to the July day. Unfortunately, these same rains also caused the creek in the middle of Mr. Bateman's field to swell to a hazardous level, the waters nutmeg brown and completely impervious to our eyes.
We followed it for almost a mile, the comforting rush soothing as I recalled my survival techniques - when the heroines of my favorite stories got lost they always folllowed the water and were inevitably saved from a death by aimless wandering in the end.
"Follow the water, follow the water," I chanted under my breath as Brianna's house disappeared from view.
Eventually we got lost for a while in our world of pretend, playing "shipwreck" on the island I almost broke my ankle when the limb I climbed over on gave way. Giving up on pirates and looting, we found the lowest part of the creek and crossed over, realizing that we would inevitably have to brave the murky waters again to get to the safety of Bree's house as the creek ran in an almost circular pattern around the field. Our plan was to cross back at our original point of passing, where the water barely reached our calves and the distance from one side of the bank to the other could be scaled in a few steps.
As we set about collecting ingredients for mud and berry pies, my ears picked up on another sound besides the rushing creek behind us. It was an engine, the loud puttering of the motor strangely familiar. I gasped as I crawled to the edge of the brush that was hiding us as we pillaged the grove of trees for acorns, shushing my comrades as I endeavored to pinpoint any potential danger. And then I spotted him. A massive tractor loomed in the distance, its gigantic wheels headed straight for our hiding place!
"It's Mr. Bateman!" Brianna exclaimed in a hushed squeal. "Oh no! What are we going to do?"
I looked at her in incredulous horror.
"But I thought you said he wouldn't CARE, Brianna!!" I could hardly believe our misfortune. And then it dawned on me. Perhaps this Bateman guy was a descendant of those Bateman's in that Hitchcock film, and suddenly, the image of a dried-up grandma with no eyes shot icy fear straight through my veins. We must escape.
I glanced over my shoulder at Matti who had hung back, taking shelter behind a big oak. I had to take action.
"We've no choice, my friends, but to do one thing. RUN!"
Following my natural born leader instincts, my posse braced themselves to flee. Brianna warned us to bend down, seeking what cover we could from the sparse brush which separated us from Bateman and his killing machine. I can only imagine the pathetic sight we must have been, three gangly pre-teens half bent over, oblivious to the fact that running in a nintey degree angle did NOTHING to help us.
Suddenly I lost one of my favorite flip flops and cried out when my bare foot made contact with what I swore must have been an ancient Indian arrowhead.
"Your shoe!" Matti cried.
"No!" I gestured bravely. "Leave it! We must only think of our lives! Onward!" I half limped in my boomerang-shaped canter, suddenly realizing that we had left the shallowest part of the creek far behind. I stayed close to Brianna, throwing glances behind me as Psycho slowly closed in.
"Listen, our next task is to find a safe place to cross the creek."
We frantically searched for a low point but to no avail, gauging that the water was dangerously close to being over our heads.
"Here!" Bree yelled. Thank goodness, her house could be seen in the distance; I figured this part was as good as any as we began the treacherous descent down the steep muddy bank.
Brianna led the way as I stepped with trepidation in her wake, my sister grabbing fistfuls of my shirttails and sobbing with fear at the prospect of sea serpents and the Loch Ness Monster. With a shout Brianna lost her footing and fell willy nilly, sliding the rest of the way down the slope. My eyes widened as she stood, black mud covering her back side from head to toe. I began snickering, unable to contain my sputtering laughter as I finally let loose a loud guffaw at the tortured look on my cousin's face.
I should have known. She who laughs last...
Half a step later and I succumbed to the same fate, my laughter cut short as my skinny arms flailed wildly and my tailbone made sharp contact with a thick tree root.
"Gosh, Bree! Way to go!" I scolded as if somehow the fact that I tripped was her fault. I helped my blubbering sister up from the wet earth where she had inevitably followed my crash landing. I paid Brianna no mind as she crossed the creek, which, of course, was at its widest berth. I readied my capri's to wade across, rolling them up high past my knees.
"Oh no!" Matti gasped as she continued to blankly stare at me.
"What? What's your problem?" I was quickly losing patience.
She reminded me that we were supposed to attend a church function with our cousin's family that night, and in an attempt to pack lightly for our two day vacation, we'd only brought pajamas. And now, that outfit had gritty, slimy creek-bed mud spread all down the back of it. Matti wailed in consternation as I turned back to see Brianna safely on the other side. I bent to roll Matti's capri's higher as well when Brianna informed me of the futility of that gesture.
"What do you mean?" My mouth gaped open as she indicated the water mark located at her shoulders. Matti burst forth in tears anew, realizing that meant the water would be up to her neck.
"Come on!" I yelled as I began wading into the churning water. I was halfway across, the water splashing against my midriff, when I discovered Matti still stood on the bank, screaming that she refused to cross.
"You have to! Stop being such a baby!" I screamed back in an attempt to be heard over her sobs. I sloshed back to where she cowered, grabbing hold of her collar and giving it a harsh jerk. I had no choice. If her arm had been caught in a trap I'd have had to amputate it to save all our lives, and this time it was no different. I knew my duty and I wasn't about to let us all become cow food.
Unable to break free from my grasp, she had couldn't help but follow me as I literally dragged her into the water. Brianna shouted encouraging words from the opposite bank as we slowly made our way across. Suddenly, without warning, a rushing current swept through and I lost my footing on the sandy bottom. Simultaneously my cousin and sister screamed, the shout turning into a gurgle as I noted with horror that Matti was completely submerged in the dirty water. My heart leapt in my throat - did they put kids in juvy for inadvertantly drowning their sisters? My fingers still had their iron grip on the collar of her t-shirt, so I pulled as hard as I could against the current, her silt-covered brunette head popping back to the surface. She was too shocked to have a reaction until - thank goodness - we reached the other side where she promptly burst into more tears. The fence was only a few yards away, the last barrier separating us from the safety of home.
At this point I left Brianna to tend to Matti, worrying now about the massive amount of anger and punishment we were sure to encounter. After we crossed the fence, I found a sunny spot in the warm grass where we could at least dry off before facing the jury. I examined my bleeding left foot, briars and rocks having attacked it after I lost my shoe in the field.
When we had sufficiently brushed off what dried mud we could and our clothes were only slightly damp, we all silently made our way back to the front porch.
"Listen, whatever you do, do NOT open your mouths," I instructed. "I will do ALL of the talking," I said, confident that I'd finaggle us out of the worst repercussions with my glib tongue.
We waited at the front door, Matti and Brianna on either side of me as I mentally prepared my speech. They stood petulantly, with heads hung and hands clasped behind their backs just as I directed. I think my idea was to appear as forlorn as WWII POW's, therefore eliciting pity instead of retribution. Instead we all probably looked like pathetic wet sewer rats and really, who feels sorry for those? With trembling fingers I reached to ring the doorbell.
The door swung open and my aunt loomed like a giant in front of us, her eyes widening with shock at the sight. Within moments her mental calculations transformed her mouth into a thin line, her eyes narrowing as she crossed her arms, evidently ready to disbelieve any yarn we might try to spin. I knew that look. I also knew it was pointless to lie, and so I did what I did best as a kid - shifted the blame to someone else.
As I ranted and raved that Brianna said it was okay, and that I tried to be the good girl but she coerced us by saying that Mr. Bateman wouldn't care, only to recant her story and say he was trying to kill us -
My aunt cut me off, the smirk on her face barely concealed.
"Oh, Mr. Bateman wouldn't have cared if you were out there!"
And then Brianna piped up with a comment that made me want to punch her into the next century.
"Oh, I know!" As if!
I turned a hateful stare upon her as she cowered beneath my gaze. She could have prevented the entire last hour of terror. Still, we had disobeyed by crossing that blasted fence and therefore indicted punishment upon ourselves. My aunt ushered us into the laundry room where we stripped out of our dirty clothes and headed for the showers. We were lucky there was enough time to wash our clothes before church. I had to borrow shoes from Brianna.
Our punishment was to sit in separate rooms in silence until we left for church, verbal lashings having been given over the phone when Aunt Terri made us call our parents.
Although it seemed traumatic back then, like all things, given time, it morphed into a humorous and often-told story.
I don't think my parents ever let us go back to their house again
