Three years ago when I worked in Moore I had to drive 35 miles to get to work. The road I took each day was a two lane county road that bounced over many short steep hills on it's way to my school. On two of these hills the steepness of going up was so abruptly followed by the steepness of going down that navigating this stretch at high speed made your belly feel like it was coming up your throat.
At the bottom of the larger of these hills was Shadow Creek, a deep creek carved by the occasional spring gully washer. The county placed white 2 foot rocks all along its banks to limit erosion. Guarding the creeks waters were five strands of rusted barbed wire and two 100 foot cottonwoods that shaded the waters below.
I never saw the creek challenge the upper reaches of its banks, but I had heard that it happened occasionally, even dangerously so. After spring rains I would slow my car as I went by Shadow Creek as if I was rubbernecking an accident. I would curiously peer into the water running below the vigilant limbs of the giant cottonwoods and then somberly head home.
One evening I had to stay at work longer than usual to grade a large pile of papers. At five o'clock I heard thunder echoing softly through the halls followed by the roar of rain hitting the roof of our metal school building. With no windows in the room, I got up to look out our front door. The sky was grey, not just with clouds, but also with an aggressive rain that hit the ground so hard that a mist hid the stripes in the parking lot.
My papers would wait; this looked like serious rain. I wanted to leave before this downpour killed my chances of getting home before nightfall. I gathered up my papers, put a trash bag over my head, said good bye to the night school staff and hurried out the door to my car.
The rain hit the roof of the car so hard I could barely hear the engine running. I maxed the volume of the radio listening for weather alerts. Instead of alerts, "Tears in Heaven," by Eric Clapton blared at me sardonically.
With my head lights gleaming and the windshield wipers beating frantically, I carefully pulled onto the street. Cars that joined me were creeping slowly. Together we all looked like a soggy funeral procession rolling out of Moore. After a few miles the other cars had turned into their own driveways leaving me alone on the rain soaked road. The rain began to relent and its angry beating on the roof of my car softened into a dirge as I approached the steep hill just before Shadow Creek.
Normally, this was the spot where I would floorboard the gas pedal and chuckle as my belly turned somersaults when I crested the steep hill. But on that day, with the rain and a possibly flooded creek, I took my time.
It was a good thing too, because at the bottom of the hill was a dripping wet boy running across the bridge that crossed Shadow Creek. He waved me down as I approached the bridge. I slowed the car to a stop and rolled down the window. I noticed that the water was higher up the banks of the creek than I had ever seen it. "Get in!" I yelled as the rain continued to fall. He complied quickly and rolled up the window.
"Thanks mister," he said. "I don't usually get in cars with strangers, but it is really wet out there."
"It sure is," I replied. "What are you doing out here anyway?"
"I went to a friend's house after school and started home when I saw the clouds getting dark. I didn't make it."
"No, I guess you didn't." at this point I noticed that he had a slight bruise on his forehead and a scrape on his cheek. He was also missing a shoe. He looked miserable. "Where do you live?" I asked.
"About a half mile up the road. Mister..."
"The name's Trent," I said.
"Anyway, Trent, I sure do thank you for helping me. I am going to be in such trouble," he spoke softly only half expecting me to hear him.
"What happened to your head and cheek, and where is your shoe?"
He paused for a second and answered, "Well, I took a shortcut across the creek and hit my head when I slipped. My shoe came off and went floating down the creek. I couldn't get it."
I looked at him wondering what in the world he was doing crossing that swollen creek.
"Miste.., I mean Trent, would you take it easy over this next hill? It makes my stomach feel funny if you go too fast."
"No problem," I answered and then asked, "What's your name?"
"Billy Matthews," he said.
It didn't take very long to get to his house. I pulled into his driveway and let him out. He ran up the drive, through the chain link gate and finally onto his porch. He looked at me and waved as he went into his house.
I pulled back out onto the county road, took one last look at the house and headed home thankful that the rain had slowed to a sprinkle.
The next day was beautiful. The sun was bright, and the sky was blue, and I finished all my work early. I headed out to the car squinting in the sunlight thinking about how much difference twenty four hours can make.
I gunned my car at the big hill by Shadow Creek enjoying the feeling as I crested the hill and then slowed just enough to see that the creek was still half way up the rock clad bank. I took it slow at the next hill thinking that I might see Billy as I went by his house. He wasn't there, but I did see his parents in the yard working on their flower bed, so I stopped to check on him.
Billy's parents looked at me as I got out of the car and walked toward them. I said, "Man, that was quite a rainstorm yesterday wasn't it?"
They had no idea who I was but responded politely, "It sure was."
"I'm sorry," I said, "I'm Trent." Nothing but absent expressions. "The guy that dropped Billy off yesterday."
"Billy?" asked the woman rubbing her forehead with one hand and holding a small spade in the other.
"Billy Matthews," I said. "I dropped him off here yesterday afternoon. I found him down by Shadow Creek dripping wet so I brought him home. I was just..." I was cut short by the woman's husband standing a few feet behind her.
"Trent," he said, "If this is your idea of a joke, I'm not laughing."
Quickly I said, "I have no idea what you are talking about. I just was checking on... Yesterday, I... I was just wanting to check on Billy!"
The husband spoke forcefully, "Look, you need to leave now."
Confused, exasperated, agitated; I was all of them at once. I got back in my car and took off.
When I arrived at work the next day I asked Polly, our school secretary, if she had ever heard of Billy Matthews. If anyone would know, it would be her since she lived by Shadow Creek.
She said, "Yes, I have. It was so sad." She quit typing on her computer.
"Sad? What do you mean?" I asked.
She looked at me, frowned and then began, "About three years ago Billy Matthews was rushing to get home on a rainy day. In fact, it was a day a lot like yesterday. It was raining like crazy. Well, he never made it home. There was a big search, but for two days all they found was his shoe about a mile from the Shadow Creek bridge. When they did find him it was in the roots of those big cottonwoods at the bridge."
I sat down.
"Trent, what's wrong?" Polly asked.
"Nothing, its okay." I lied.
She continued. "A year ago the family moved away. They said that they couldn't handle how cruel people were about their loss. Apparently people kept saying they saw Billy or that they had given him a ride. Can you believe how cruel people can be?"
"Yeah, I can," I said.
At the bottom of the larger of these hills was Shadow Creek, a deep creek carved by the occasional spring gully washer. The county placed white 2 foot rocks all along its banks to limit erosion. Guarding the creeks waters were five strands of rusted barbed wire and two 100 foot cottonwoods that shaded the waters below.
I never saw the creek challenge the upper reaches of its banks, but I had heard that it happened occasionally, even dangerously so. After spring rains I would slow my car as I went by Shadow Creek as if I was rubbernecking an accident. I would curiously peer into the water running below the vigilant limbs of the giant cottonwoods and then somberly head home.
One evening I had to stay at work longer than usual to grade a large pile of papers. At five o'clock I heard thunder echoing softly through the halls followed by the roar of rain hitting the roof of our metal school building. With no windows in the room, I got up to look out our front door. The sky was grey, not just with clouds, but also with an aggressive rain that hit the ground so hard that a mist hid the stripes in the parking lot.
My papers would wait; this looked like serious rain. I wanted to leave before this downpour killed my chances of getting home before nightfall. I gathered up my papers, put a trash bag over my head, said good bye to the night school staff and hurried out the door to my car.
The rain hit the roof of the car so hard I could barely hear the engine running. I maxed the volume of the radio listening for weather alerts. Instead of alerts, "Tears in Heaven," by Eric Clapton blared at me sardonically.
With my head lights gleaming and the windshield wipers beating frantically, I carefully pulled onto the street. Cars that joined me were creeping slowly. Together we all looked like a soggy funeral procession rolling out of Moore. After a few miles the other cars had turned into their own driveways leaving me alone on the rain soaked road. The rain began to relent and its angry beating on the roof of my car softened into a dirge as I approached the steep hill just before Shadow Creek.
Normally, this was the spot where I would floorboard the gas pedal and chuckle as my belly turned somersaults when I crested the steep hill. But on that day, with the rain and a possibly flooded creek, I took my time.
It was a good thing too, because at the bottom of the hill was a dripping wet boy running across the bridge that crossed Shadow Creek. He waved me down as I approached the bridge. I slowed the car to a stop and rolled down the window. I noticed that the water was higher up the banks of the creek than I had ever seen it. "Get in!" I yelled as the rain continued to fall. He complied quickly and rolled up the window.
"Thanks mister," he said. "I don't usually get in cars with strangers, but it is really wet out there."
"It sure is," I replied. "What are you doing out here anyway?"
"I went to a friend's house after school and started home when I saw the clouds getting dark. I didn't make it."
"No, I guess you didn't." at this point I noticed that he had a slight bruise on his forehead and a scrape on his cheek. He was also missing a shoe. He looked miserable. "Where do you live?" I asked.
"About a half mile up the road. Mister..."
"The name's Trent," I said.
"Anyway, Trent, I sure do thank you for helping me. I am going to be in such trouble," he spoke softly only half expecting me to hear him.
"What happened to your head and cheek, and where is your shoe?"
He paused for a second and answered, "Well, I took a shortcut across the creek and hit my head when I slipped. My shoe came off and went floating down the creek. I couldn't get it."
I looked at him wondering what in the world he was doing crossing that swollen creek.
"Miste.., I mean Trent, would you take it easy over this next hill? It makes my stomach feel funny if you go too fast."
"No problem," I answered and then asked, "What's your name?"
"Billy Matthews," he said.
It didn't take very long to get to his house. I pulled into his driveway and let him out. He ran up the drive, through the chain link gate and finally onto his porch. He looked at me and waved as he went into his house.
I pulled back out onto the county road, took one last look at the house and headed home thankful that the rain had slowed to a sprinkle.
The next day was beautiful. The sun was bright, and the sky was blue, and I finished all my work early. I headed out to the car squinting in the sunlight thinking about how much difference twenty four hours can make.
I gunned my car at the big hill by Shadow Creek enjoying the feeling as I crested the hill and then slowed just enough to see that the creek was still half way up the rock clad bank. I took it slow at the next hill thinking that I might see Billy as I went by his house. He wasn't there, but I did see his parents in the yard working on their flower bed, so I stopped to check on him.
Billy's parents looked at me as I got out of the car and walked toward them. I said, "Man, that was quite a rainstorm yesterday wasn't it?"
They had no idea who I was but responded politely, "It sure was."
"I'm sorry," I said, "I'm Trent." Nothing but absent expressions. "The guy that dropped Billy off yesterday."
"Billy?" asked the woman rubbing her forehead with one hand and holding a small spade in the other.
"Billy Matthews," I said. "I dropped him off here yesterday afternoon. I found him down by Shadow Creek dripping wet so I brought him home. I was just..." I was cut short by the woman's husband standing a few feet behind her.
"Trent," he said, "If this is your idea of a joke, I'm not laughing."
Quickly I said, "I have no idea what you are talking about. I just was checking on... Yesterday, I... I was just wanting to check on Billy!"
The husband spoke forcefully, "Look, you need to leave now."
Confused, exasperated, agitated; I was all of them at once. I got back in my car and took off.
When I arrived at work the next day I asked Polly, our school secretary, if she had ever heard of Billy Matthews. If anyone would know, it would be her since she lived by Shadow Creek.
She said, "Yes, I have. It was so sad." She quit typing on her computer.
"Sad? What do you mean?" I asked.
She looked at me, frowned and then began, "About three years ago Billy Matthews was rushing to get home on a rainy day. In fact, it was a day a lot like yesterday. It was raining like crazy. Well, he never made it home. There was a big search, but for two days all they found was his shoe about a mile from the Shadow Creek bridge. When they did find him it was in the roots of those big cottonwoods at the bridge."
I sat down.
"Trent, what's wrong?" Polly asked.
"Nothing, its okay." I lied.
She continued. "A year ago the family moved away. They said that they couldn't handle how cruel people were about their loss. Apparently people kept saying they saw Billy or that they had given him a ride. Can you believe how cruel people can be?"
"Yeah, I can," I said.
"I know. People can be cruel. It makes me so sad. Well, Billy's parents finally had to sell. They had a hard time finding a buyer, but Mrs. Matthews' sister and brother in law bought the place." There was a bit of a pause and then, "I think they're still having some problems, even after 3 years. Can you believe it?"
"Yeah, I can." I got up and walked to my classroom.
1 comment:
That's a good story. How's everything in Shawnee? I'm about ready to have another little get together with you and Hart. My pool will be finished in a couple of weeks and we'll be ready to entertain! Noticed you haven't been posting to your blog much - are you still working on a book? Laura has been working on one as well with the hope of someday getting published. Hope all is well with you and the family. Take care and hope to hear from you!
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