WOLF CREEK

I have lived in Calhoun County for most of my life. I came here when my father was stationed at Camp Calhoun. Except for a short stint in the service I have remained here. I have tried to live in big cities but just could not stand the noise or the hustle and bustle. And not knowing my neighbors was also a bit unnerving for me. So I returned to Calhoun County and found me a job with the Calhoun County Times.

As I was on my way home yesterday I happened to cross Wolf Creek. I always cross Wolf creek but this time it was different.

I pulled into a side road that was unused and got out of my car and remembered Jake Heller.  Jake and I had been buddies until he returned from Vietnam in a coffin.

As I stood by looking down at the creek I noticed a bottle floating down it and picked up a rock and threw it. I missed, but then again I never had the arm that Jake had. He could nail a bottle or jar floating down the creek nine times out of ten. He had a pitch that most major baseball teams would love to have.

My Parents were always telling me that Jake was bad news and I should not be running around with him. That was my mother and father, always looking for the best in people.

Jake and were together most of the time we were not in school. I will admit that we did a few things that could be called shady when we were together. One afternoon we had nothing to do so we went wandering down Ridge Road and out to where the old gold mine used to be; it was now home to the city’s sewer.  In order to keep the water in the sewer proper there was a board that they used as a dam to keep the water back until it was clean and then it flowed into the lower end of Wolf Creek. Just for the heck of it we pulled the board out and watched the water flow faster and faster until we decided we had best get out of there before we got caught. We tried to put the board back but it would not go back no matter how hard we tried.

We also like to walk the pipe that ran under Auburn Street.  No matter how hot it was, under the bridge it was always cool and was a good place to break bottles or just sit on the pipe and cool off.

We also liked to go over to the furniture store. We would get the boxes that the washers and dryers came in. On occasion we would get real lucky and find a box that a refrigerator had come in. We knew we would have fun that day.

We would carry or drag the boxes back to the top of the slag pile from a gold mine that had been there long ago.  In case you don’t know, a slag pile is what is left after the gold has been mined from the ground. The rocks are really jazzed and this one was a good twenty foot high and wound up inches from Wolf Creek.  Our parents had told us to stay away from the mine. Like that was going to do any good.  (It also had the first cable service. May Norris had made her husband climb up to the top of the tipping rails - a good hundred feet off the ground - with a length of cable and a TV antenna. Thus the Calhoun County Cable service was born.)

When you are young you feel like you’re invincible. That nothing will ever happen to you. Jake and I felt that way when we would take the box and lie it down on the ground close to the edge and push ourselves off.  The object was to make it all of the way to the bottom with your box somewhat intact. Sometimes our boxes would give up the ghost about half way down and we would wind up going down the rest of the way on our bottoms. Once you started down you were committed to make it all of the way down, with or without your box. 

As I sit here typing this I am remembering the last time I saw Jake. I had come home for my bi-yearly torture session (otherwise known as a visit with my parents whom I managed to stay as far away from as possible. If I didn’t manage to stay under their radar I wound up working in one of their cafés).  I had come back from Vietnam and he was about to leave for Vietnam. 

We tried going to the old places and doing the things we used to do but they seemed so childless that we soon gave up on that and went to the local coffee shop and sat down with our coffee and cigarettes and talked about the past and what the future might hold for us. We talked a lot about people we knew and places we used to go but not a word was brought up about Vietnam.

I guess that we thought, for some reason, that if we didn’t talk about it then it would not really be happening. I could see the look in his eyes though, one of uncertainty and fear. We finished our coffee and parted company outside the coffee shop; we had traded addresses while we were drinking our coffee.

It was about six weeks before I thought about writing Jake to ask him how he was doing. The letter came back to me as being addressed to someone that was deceased.

The next time I went home my mother told me the story. There had been an attack on the air base just after the plane that Jake was in had landed. Jake had no idea of where to run much less no weapon to use to protect himself with and he had caught a round in the back that killed him instantly.

I saw another bottle floating down the creek and threw a rock at it. I managed to break the bottle this time.

I said that was one for you Jake to myself as I got into my car to finish my drive home.

© Tina Rice, April 29, 2008