"I don't like this, man," the teenager told his dad as they went to the edge of the freezing cold water.
"It's okay, son. I told you... this is the tradition. All the men in this family do this at some point. It's the way we do things."
The Thompsons did this with every father and son at the edge of the Elk River. It was used as some type of bonding time within the family. They thought it met the quota of "bonding time" for the fathers and sons of every generation in the family.
The breeze was soft and so was the flow of the river. It was low and barely moving, the winter weather made it too cold to bear, but for this family, it was something you had to do.
The son took off his shoes and set them onto the dirty rocks at the water's edge. He let the water tickle his toes, sending goosebumps up his feet to his ankles.
"There you go. I'm right behind you," the dad told him.
He stepped forward into the water towards the rocky, dirty sandbar where a pillar from the old bridge stood. The stone had dead vines climbing it to the very top. The water was low, and he was able to get to the island easily. He shook his hands in hopes the water wouldn't freeze his insides.
At the rocky island, the dad placed his hand on his son's shoulder. "I knew you could do it, son."
"Thanks, Dad," he said, even though he thought it was stupid. He knew he wouldn't do this with his son.
The son reached down and grabbed a rock, throwing it into the water in front of him.
Clonk. The rock bounced back up and fell into the water to the right. Then, a shoe rippled its way to the rock island. A solid-red shoe with white laces. The dirt from the bottom of the river had stained the rim around the sole of the shoe. The son picked it up and handed it to his dad.
"This is weird."
"Nah, I'm sure someone lost it recently..." he stopped. For a moment, he agreed. Who would be out here and lose a shoe in this cold water? No one would be out here, except them. Then came the urge to show his masculinity and leadership to his son, he leaped into the water without warning. He left the shoe behind as he trudged his way to through the water.
"What are you doing?" his son asked from the tiny island.
No answer.
Then, he stopped in the water. Letting the ripples around him slow to a stop. He reached below the surface of the water and grabbed a rope. His fist pulled at the shirt on the other side. It was heavy. The rope. The cinder blocks. The water weight. The dead weight.
He struggled to pull it up out of the water. He tugged with both hands, almost losing his balance in the water.
Finally, he pulled up a dead girl's body. Her neck showed a gruesome scene. The massive gash from the crowbar was ugly. Her head flopped back, letting her wet hair fall behind her. It revealed her muddy, eroded face. It wasn't hard to tell... this was Genni.
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