Down By the Creek

Once a long time ago, I went to live in Georgia, with my backwoods, hillbilly cousins. It was summer in the Deep South. I can tell you it’s like being in a jungle during the summer season in the forests of the south. And everyone talks with a twang. I’d taken a plane there, to get away from California and the trouble I had gotten into there. (That’s another story).

My relatives, I love them from a distance. I spent two weeks out there, living in a trailer with no air conditioning. The humidity felt like it was raining on some days. And at night the fireflies were out in force, lighting up the night, as we’d sit outside drinking sweet tea and picking string beans. I was bored.

And then my cousin Sandy and two guys came to get me. “We’re going to the creek, you wanna go?” Hell yes I wanna go! The four of us piled in an old car and went down yonder to a place off the road,where we parked the car. There was a tiny store there I remember. Then we walked through the forest, the two guys carrying the cooler. I walked behind my cousin, watching her butt sway back and forth in her white cut-offs, and listening to her talking in her twang, about nothing in particular. For about a mile
we walked, they knew where they were going, down a trail with tall trees that only got taller as we went further, through a thick forest.

They called it a creek. But it was a slow moving river. One guy laid down a thick quilt. We all sat on it, popped open Coors beers. The two guys jumped into the water, diving in, swimming under the current. And then I did the same. Sandy had to get up her nerve before she could do it. The water wasn’t warm, it was chilly. There was a huge boulder that stood up, jutting out of the water. One of the guys said to me “this was where your cousin Franklin drowned, right here, where your swimming now, right in that spot.” “The water isn’t even deep” I said in a low voice. The guy looking at my eyes and face, “he didn’t know how to swim”, he said, and I swam off. And could feel his hands running along my leg as I swam by him. He didn’t even say anything. That’s how they did things back there, by tacit consent. You just do something, and if nobody disagrees, it’s okay. He was subtle.

I can say for sure that day I remember it because of the simplicity of what we were doing. We were just enjoying the water, the sun and each other’s company. It seemed like that was exactly where I needed to be on that day. My cousins and those two guys talked with a heavy southern twang, so thick that I could barely understand them. But by the end of the day I understood them all, everything.

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