The Day I Fell In To The River is a story about a middle school student, Jack, who recounts his adventures while walking along the Stanislus River.
"The Day I Fell In To the River."
There's nothing I like better than a cloudy day. Well, almost nothing.…
You know, I mean the big white puffy clouds that you get with the bright blue-sky way up above them. And, sometimes, birds up above, too, gulls coming ahead of the storm, or a flight of long necked geese. We saw an eagle once when I was up in Mariposa hiking with Curt and Uncle Alex. It disappeared right into a cloud and then came out like miles later on the other side. Some of my best adventures have come on cloudy days.
Like, the time I fell in to the river that was a cloudy day. It must have been around one thirty or so when dad dropped me off at the freeway exit. It was late March, the last day of Spring break. It had been raining off and on the whole week. All morning, I tried to find a way to get out of the house. Can you believe my old man wouldn't let me go camping with Curt and his dad? "There's gonna be a big storm up there this weekend, Jackie," he told me.
Yea, right. Do you see a drop of rain?
"You went to the movies, yesterday!" He told me when I asked for the five bucks.
So there’s only one movie in the world? Oh, right he’ll drop me off by the river on his way to town.
"Now, be waiting here at three thirty, Jackie" he told me. I can’t wait to get my license.…
When I go through the gate at the start of the dirt road, there's s a fresh smell from damp earth, and the new green growth. Sunshine, blue sky, wind, shadows, and big white clouds fill up the road. My feet press into the soft damp earth. I can't believe how much the vegetation has grown since I was down here last time. That was before the rains started. To my left there's this big open field with tons of bushy green plants, to my right the freeway. As I start down hill, the trees begin, lot of oaks and some smaller trees and then, the blackberry bushes. There are these other bushes too with tiny pink flowers.
It's really tight going under the freeway. First of all there's the shadows, the sound of the traffic over your head. And, then, it gets darker. I have to admit, it's a little scary. There's all this graffiti. Some guys from the city must come in. And, they are really good. There are a couple paintings down here like the ones I saw at the art museum in San Francisco last winter. I've never run into any of the painters. And they always clean up after themselves, too. You know, there's never no paint cans around or nothing. They leave messages for each other, too, like, "Peace! The Joker Rules!" And, "Too Bad You'll Never Reach This Level!" They leave some gang markings, too. I can't tell if they're real or they're just fooling around. Figure if I ever see 'em, I'll just nod hello and keep on walking.
When I exit the bridge, and go under the railroad tracks, I spot the river. It's not too wide here, but its moving fast. It's a lot higher than last time. Sunlight bounces off the water in millions of tiny sparkles as I pick up my pace. I'm telling myself, If I really jam it, I can make it all the way to the state park. I figure it's almost two hours round trip. Last time, we turned back right before a big bend in the river. I know the park entrance is just around that bend. Better not be late, I'm thinking as I remember my old man telling me, “What, you can't even tell time, yet, Jackie?”
Funny, how down by the river with the big white clouds, the trees, the water, time seems to be different. Like, when I come up to the section of road that's covered by trees, in the shadows it’s like a whole different world. It's like you're out of the twentieth century. Like you're connected to the whole universe. I feel like a Greek hero or something. Around the bend in the road, I'm expecting one of Robin Hood's men, or a Native American. It gets you to thinking what it must have been like back then with no cars, walking wherever you go, more animals than people. The second time I was down here alone, was when I saw the coyote.
You'll never believe this. I was on my way back. There's this patch of woods like. And, on this side of it there's this big field. The coyote came up from the river. He started across the road and then he saw me. He stopped right in the middle and turned to face me. I'm dead still in my tracks also. We're there, looking eye to eye. Not a sound but the flow of the river. It seemed like years went by, and like no time at all. Then, he got up, and trotted off toward the woods. He went about fifty feet or so at a slow trot just at this edge of the trees. Then, he turned to face me, nodded his head once, and took off again. I just stood there rubbing my eyes 'til he disappeared from sight.
Today, when I come up on the woods, there's no sign of him. The field is different now. It's covered with big green bushes. And on the bushes are these bright blue and purple flowers, lupine, I think. It's unbelievable, just plant after plant after plant covered with purple flowers. It stops me dead in my tracks. I focus on the closet plant, hundred of delicate, silky petals. The sun comes out from behind a cloud and the whole field brightens. And there's shadows from other clouds drifting across the flowers. To my left, there are flashes of river between the tangled green blackberry bushes. Then, in the middle of all this, I see the coyote. He's standing between three giant luminous lupine bushes smiling at me. I'm not sure what to do. If you're gonna make it to the park you'd better get going, a voice tells me. I look from the coyote to the bending road in front of me. When I return my eyes to the coyote, he's gone. I start back down the road searching the field, but there's not a sign of him.
Around the bend, there's a low spot in the road covered with water. At the edge, I discover it's at least a foot deep. You have to turn back, I tell myself. I hold still for a minute wondering what to do. Maybe I can go to one side and get around, I think and start off the road to my left. In a minute or less, I discover a fallen tree. Yea, you can ford the water on that, I tell myself. Suppose you fall off? I wonder knowing how mad my old man would get if I came home with wet shoes. I take a deep breath and climb up into the branches. I can really walk good across trees and stuff. My little sister goes to gymnastics. I watched her on the beams a couple times. The secret is to look straight ahead, not at your feet. I tried it on the curb down by the almond orchards. It really works. Your feet find their own balance. In the wink of an eye, I'm across and back on my way again. Better hurry, I think and pick up my pace.
In a few minutes, I come to spot where I can go right and travel along the gravel levee road or go left and look for the grass road closer to the river. I figure the levee road is quicker and head up. From the top of the road I can see over the bushes to long stretches of river. The water is wide, brown and flowing fast with white ripples of current every so often. On the other side, farmland stretches out for mile and miles. But, not another human being in sight. Almond orchards, vineyards, and fields of alfalfa and grain go on and on forever. Everything inside my head stops and I can feel each footfall strike the earth and echo across the fields of time. Above, the white puffy clouds are playing tag.
Then, it suddenly strikes me. I realize the real reason why I want to make it all the way to the park. It must have been in the back of my mind all the time. Melody's grandfather lives on a farm somewhere near the river. Wouldn't it be something if we ran into her? I ask myself. I remember her telling Jenny that she sometimes biked all the way to the park. In my mind, I picture her peddling the trail. It's warm enough she could be wearing shorts, I'm thinking. I picture her long black hair tucked up under a helmet. There’s the bench above the trail. We could sit there and watch the river. The wind might kick up. I could loan her my windbreaker. Maybe put an arm around her. She would look at me with those smiling violet eyes.
Yea, right. She'd ride right by and never even see you. You know, she's a spirit leader. Hangs with the in people. You didn't even make the basketball team. You're no good in math.… Broke your ten speed.… myself tells me.
Yea, but she did laugh when I got Mark with a spit wad yesterday in English, didn’t she, I answer, and continue to daydream about meeting her.
After a good half hour of hard walking, I get to the bend in the river. I can see straight road for at least two miles before it bends again. Half hour or more to the park. Never make it back in time, myself tells me. I picture my old man standing outside the car waiting, and spin in my tracks. I’m thinking how my dad wouldn’t pay to get my bike fixed after I messed up the gears on it. He tells me I have to earn the money to get it fixed. Then when I tell him I want to take a job delivering newspapers, he tells me, “No, you’ll never get up that early.” How does he know, if he doesn’t give me a chance? I ask myself.
When I get to the bend that goes closer to the river, I'm getting just a little winded, but I decide to get off the road anyhow. I still got a few extra minutes I'm thinking not wanting to be standing around waiting for my dad. The grass road narrows down to a footpath and turns hard right. There's a whole long trek between these really big bright green thistle plants. You know, how most of the time when you see them they're all dried up and dying. These are all fresh and green. And they have these really bright purple flowers. And there's so many of them. As far as I can see on both sides plant after plant after plant with the sun shinning down on them. At the end of the thistles, there are slender trees and blackberry bushes. I have to work my way through in a couple spots. Then, I’m right on the river less than two feet away.
The sun goes under a gigantic gray-white cloud as I turn to look at the rushing waters. It's running really fast now. It looks a lot higher than when I first came down. At the curve, there's half a tree bumping up and down with a lot of drift wood bunching up. The water just rushes by way wider than the field of thistles and washing over the rocks and on to the ocean. It sounds so much louder now, booming in places.
It's what they call the roar of the river, myself tells me.
Does the tide affect the river, too? I ask myself.
Must be high tide, myself answers.
The wind answers back sending gusts of ripples across the water. Better get going, I tell myself. Still I stay for another moment. The river gurgles with a wisp of wind. I follow the play of wind and water for near a quarter mile, and then step to the edge for a closer look. I can swim, you know. I could probably make it across on a calm day, I’m telling myself. But, it's a little frightening just the same. I picture myself kicking my legs and trying to keep my head up. A flash of fear runs through my body. As I start away from the water's edge, there's a loud splash. I look around to see if somebody threw a log or something. In the water there's what must be a beaver or a muskrat caught in a current. He's holding his head above water fighting to ride it out. But, he turns and looks me straight in the eye. He gives me such an angry look that I jump back a couple feet. And, he holds it while he paddles down river. It's like he's thinking, "If I make it back on shore I'll bite his stinking fingers off."
At the spot where I have to ford the ditch, everything looks different. The water is higher by three or four feet. And, somehow, the tree doesn't make it all the way across. It's closer to the river too. One little slip and you're dead meat, I'm telling myself.
This can't be the right path. No way you can make it across, myself answers.
I turn and try to figure where I could have strayed off. Just head inland a little. The water probably won't be as deep. So what if I get my shoes wet. It's better'n being late, I’m thinking. Right off the path are blackberry bushes and these slender trees that grow real close together. It's really hard picking my way through. My legs get tangled up in the vines and I trip a couple times and start to sweat. I have to detour way down river at this one spot where the bushes are too thick to get through. When I get back to the water it's even wider and deeper here. There's a current in it. If I go any further inland I'll never make it back in time, I tell myself.
Yea, but your old man will be even more up tight if you drown yourself down here, myself answers.
I fight my way back to the river, and check out the ditch again. Where the path leads in to it it's at least up to my knees. So what if I get my pants wet? They'll be almost dry. They're my pants, I tell myself. Still in my mind I picture myself tripping or something, catching a current and heading into the river. Go inland along the edge of the ditch, I figure.
If the tides coming up, you'd better get a move on, myself tells me as I feel my heartbeat quicken.
About ten feet away from the river, I pick my spot. It’s a couple body lengths wide. It looks like maybe up to my knees. I step a foot in. It's icy cold. I pull out my foot wondering if this is the best crossing. You don't want to get in that water, myself tells me.
Come on, I say in another voice picturing my old man. To my right, a little, I see a small tree whipping in the water. Walk across by that, I tell myself and start back in the water. In four steps, the water is up to my knees.
Get out’ a here, myself yells.
Couple more steps, I think. Next thing I know the waters up to my waist. I'm picturing myself getting tangled up in the tree, tripping and washing on out to the river. Then the bottom goes out from under my feet and I'm in over my waist. I throw myself out full length and start swimming for all I'm worth holding my neck up out of the water just like the muskrat. My eyes are closed and I'm taking long hard strokes and kicking my feet. Every ounce of energy is focused on getting to the other side. It's like my whole life passes before my eyes until I'm finally pulling myself up out of the water and standing on solid ground.
We made it. We make it, I'm telling myself.
Yea, wait 'til your old man sees you, now. You stupid idiot! myself answers as I slosh forward. I take off my windbreaker and start to wring it out. Then, I remember my wallet. Soaking wet. I figure I'll carry it outside and maybe shake it a little bit to dry it out.
What a miserable looking figure, myself tells me and I picture what I must look like, water sloshing out of my shoes, pants all muddy up to my knees, a soaked wallet in one hand and a dripping jacket in the other.
What if Melody rides by on her bike? I ask myself, bending my head to the ground.
My old man is right. I am a constant mess up, I'm thinking.
Then, to make matters worse, I come to the bend and see where I first took the levee road. Oh, no. I got off the road too soon, I tell myself.
Uncle Alex is right. You never pay attention. You’re always talking to yourself, myself answer.
Dad is right. I am an idiot.…
I come to the little ditch and climb up on the fallen tree. It's nothing like the one behind me. How could I ever have thought that it was the same ditch? I ask myself.
I told you to turn back, myself answers.
When I crossed over, the sun came out. I could see my shadow dragging behind me. I picked up my pace pass the lupine fields watching my dark footsteps.
Then, it happened again. I saw the coyote. He was at the patch of woods on his way home. He looked right at me, winked his eye, and took off. Wow, I told myself, as I stood dead in my tracks.
Then, I figured falling in the river wasn't such a bad thing. We got to see the coyote. We made it across the water. Man, that was some bad swimming. So what if we got a little wet, I was telling myself as I did a little skip step. I looked up at the bright blue sky and gigantic gray and white clouds and picked up my pace.
Just tell your dad that you fell off the tree. You don't have to say anything about taking the wrong path. He's not such a bad guy, He'll understand, myself told me.
But, I wasn't listening that close. I was watching a giant cloud swallowing up the tail of serpent looking one and wondering if I should tell Melody I was out near her grandpa's house on the path along the river.
Khenlee has reached 12 Cycles of Seasons and will find which working circle she will now belong to. She is shocked to find out what the gods have decided what her life work will be.
The sequel to Goalden Girl. Gemma's school football team is well-established. Her young step-sister Portia is also becoming a promising player, until an accident changes her life forever
