Freedom on the River

Sitting on the bank of the White River with my feet dipped into the cool rippling water I glance down and, by the luminous moon’s light, see the dominant features of my reflection. Staring back at me, I catch a glimpse of my family back home; my father’s eyes, my mother’s nose, the sharp rigid jaw line of the same granddad whose lap I crawled into all those late evenings as a child when my dreams turned to nightmares. I still can’t fathom it has been two months. The fact that it has only been 60 days since I left home that fiery July night leaves me at a loss for words. It feels like years since I have felt the warmth of the flickering flames of the dimly lit fireplace that was just enough to heat the space of the one room cottage, or even the tender sound of my mother singing “Amazing Grace” while she worked in the kitchen.  The longing I have to be home burns within me. Does my family miss me with the same passion as I do them? Are they aware of what I saw that night, and why I had to leave with such haste?  I guess I’ll never know the answers to the questions my worn out mind has left me thinking each lonely night as I travel further and further down the river and away from home. I lie back on the moist packed Arkansas ground and relive the bliss memories of home until the first glistening rays of sun peek through the trees. I hear my stomach roar with hunger and realize it has been a good two days since my last solid meal. Planning to spear a few morning fish, I reach for the keen blade in the pit of my satchel. With a firm grip on the blade’s wooden carved handle, I ease my way into the crisp water as it splashes around me. I don’t worry too much about my soggy clothes. I figure the chilly water attached to them will cool my skin as I walk in the steamy midday sun after I’ve had breakfast. Bracing myself for the swift current in the midst of the river, I tense my muscles and begin to take smaller steps, dragging my feet closer to the bottom. I draw my attention to a number of nicely sized perch swimming nearby. As I step closer the steep abyss in the heart of the river catches me off guard and I plunge into the depths of the suddenly raging waters. Chaos surrounds all five senses as my body is thrown violently like a young girls rag doll twisting in the winds of a tornado. I thrash about trying desperately to swim away from the rage of the current but am only able to scrape the tips of my fingers across the slick, rocky bottom. My heart pounds wildly as adrenaline pumps through my veins. A flame has set inside my lungs causing such pain I cannot bear it any longer. Without warning, my mind and body simultaneously relax and I am no longer in control. I close my eyes and can hear the faint whisper of my mother’s sweet voice singing “Amazing Grace” for what seemed to be the last time. The hope I had of saving myself was entirely gone. I let my limbs go limp and give in to the helpless state I had attempted to stay so far away from. I could feel my mind slipping softly away from the rest of me. From out of nowhere, I feel a small hand grasp the back of my collar and pull me upward. As my head breaks through the surface of the water I gasp for air. I could feel my whole body tremble vigorously as I was carefully laid upon the bank of the forceful river once again. For what seemed to be hours, I laid still, regaining my awareness and inhaling deeply.  How can I possibly be alive? I sit upright and look around curiously, finding my answer nearby. A middle aged boy is crouching, leaning his back against the trunk of an ancient oak tree with his gaze set off somewhere deep in the woods. His average height, short dusky hair and rich brown eyes make him seem, at first glance, much older.

“You saved my life.” I stumble over the words, still in complete shock.

The boy, turning his head and staring solemnly, responds. “Don’t think anything of it. What were you doing out there anyway?”

“Fishing,” I reply. “What’s your name? And why are you out here in the middle of nowhere alone?”

The boy’s face remains expressionless as he speaks.  “Name’s Billy. And I could ask you the same question.”