Slocomb's Pond

Chapter Two

February, 1981.  I was twelve years old, walking home from school with my same-aged friend Henry, and Henry just wouldn't leave me alone about it:  "You're afraid, aren't you?" he taunted.

"I'm not afraid," I insisted, not quite truthfully.  "I just think it's stupid.  That's all."

I liked Henry well enough, but sometimes the kid could really make me mad.  He had a habit of fixating on the missteps, flaws, shortcomings (real or perceived), and eccentricities of other people, and then, when it suited him, being relentless in teasing those people about such things.  He never realized just how angry he was making the other guy until one of two things happened:  either Henry was told, in no uncertain terms, to back off or suffer the consequences, after which Henry backed off; or Henry was told, in no uncertain terms, to back off or suffer the consequences, after which Henry continued to ridicule and ended up taking a powerful shove or a blow to the face or the gut or some combination thereof.  Most often, luckily for Henry, it was the former.  But once in awhile he just didn't get the hint.

"Answer me this one question," Henry said.

"No."

"Seriously, just this one question:  Do you really think there's a monster in Slocomb's Pond?"

"No," I groaned.  "I don't think there's a monster in Slocomb's Pond."

"So why are you afraid?"

"I'm not afraid.  I keep telling you.  It's just stupid.  And besides, even if I was afraid, which I'm not, but if I was...well, think about it.  There may not be a monster in that pond, but there are alligators and snakes, for sure.  Now you go and spread blood and guts around in that water, the way they always do when they hold these stupid initiations, then stand in it...I mean, that could be really dangerous."

"But that's what's so cool about it," Henry replied.  "Don't you see?  You're taking the chance.  You're facing your fears."  Then, quietly, he asked, "You know what'll happen if you don't do it, right?"

"I don't care."  I was glad to see my family's old ranch style house, situated under a canopy of live oak branches, coming into view.  I'd had about all I could stand today of Henry.

Eyes gleaming, he informed me, "Everybody will say you're a coward."

I stopped and faced Henry; he stopped too.  "Are you gonna say that, Henry?" I demanded.

He shrugged, smiled slightly.  "I don't know."

I shook my head in disgust and started walking again.  He hurried to catch up with me. 

"No, I won't say you're a coward.  Okay?" Henry said quickly.  "I just think you should do it.  I'd really like it if you'd do it.  John and Tim are going to."

I veered into my yard; Henry stopped at the edge of the road, watching me.  "Come on, Matt.  Please?"

I halted again, looked back at him.

I realized, then, what was going on.

Henry had tried to shame me into agreeing to go with him to Friday night's ritual at Slocomb Pond.  But I understood at that moment he was actually pleading with me to go.

Pleading with his friend to accompany him.

Nineteen minutes and thirty-one seconds, I thought, sighing.

Nineteen minutes and thirty-one seconds spent knee-deep in the waters of Slocomb's Pond, blood from Winn-Dixie ground beef and guts from chickens slicking my legs, waiting for something to happen, probably nothing happening since nothing ever did, but being miserable anyway.  Nineteen minutes and thirty-one seconds for the sake of a friendship that I clearly need a lot less than this other kid does. 

Can I do it for him? 

Can I do it for me?

"Fine," I murmured.

"Great," Henry said, his face breaking into a wide grin.  He took off, leaving me to wonder what I had just gotten myself into.