Writings and Reflections

No Matter What You Say or Do

by Lloyd B. Abrams

They were walking home from the Second Baptist Church when Charlie Jefferson took his two kids aside and said, “Listen up. I’ve gotta talk to both of you. I’m very serious about this. There are three things I wanna warn you about. Never dive into the swimming hole at the quarry. Never bicycle to town along the Milburn bypass. And never ever climb up the high voltage towers.

Charlie had his reasons, of course. Rhona, his high school sweetheart, had been with him since right after 9/11 and she knew where he was going with this. She quietly said, “C’mon, Charlie … take it easy on them. They heard it all before.” But she was glad that he was bringing it up again. The boys sometimes did damn stupid things without thinking and constantly needed to be reminded.

“C’mon, Dad,” Garner said. He was their older son, just turned fourteen. “We aren’t that dumb.”

“I wouldn’t be saying it to you if I didn’t love you – and wanted to keep you safe … and alive. And it’s not as if it ain’t never happened.

“That Gomes kid – what’s his name? – Tommy? – he’s now a damn vegetable because of a dare. That’s right. Someone dared him to dive. And the jerk did.”

Rhona gave him another look but Charlie motioned her down. “And what about Missy Sheffield? You know … Angie’s older sister? She wanted to save a couple of minutes getting to town and she was run over by one of them logging trucks. An accident, my ass. I sure know how reckless some of them drivers are.”

Rhona gave him another exasperated look, but Charlie went on. “Then there was Tweet. You used to play with him, right Eben? What the hell was he thinking when he climbed up the tower? Did he really need to get a better view?

“And you were there right with him, and that’s what you said he told you. Were you gonna be stupid and climb up too? So tell me … what was he thinking? … and why didn’t you stop him or at least … say something?”

Charlie sighed and lowered his voice. “You know I liked that boy. But I guess you can’t cure stupid. Whatta fuckin waste of a life.”

“Charlie, please …”

Charlie worked at McCauley’s mill just north of Milburn, instead of in one of those stores in the Walmart shopping center that was two exits down the interstate. He became a volunteer fireman after high school and then, later, a first responder. He carried a defibrillator and other medical equipment behind the seat of his Chevy pickup. He had passed the EMT training regimen at SLCC and he was thinking of becoming a paramedic.

Yes, he helped some women give birth when a baby was in a real hurry. That made him feel so good – that living was really worthwhile. But he had also seen more than his fair share of lifeless children, charred limbs and broken bodies. He helped pull barely coherent drunks out of cars on fire. He worked on old people – some whom he had known – who for sure were on their way out. And he knew when it was time to stop trying to be a hero. Despite all the joking around and the cigarette smoking and the sour-tasting beers afterwards, he knew that once you’ve seen something it can never be unseen.

So Charlie Jefferson was determined to keep his kids safe.

Sometimes he drove past the boys’ school during his lunch break. He figured he could be closer to town during those minutes in case something happened. These days, you never knew when some skin head or disgruntled asshole would go and try to shoot up a school. He remembered that close call at Avondale Central a year or so back, when an all-points bulletin crackled to life on his scanner. Thank goodness the sixteen-year-old scumbag with an AR-15 was shot dead by an off-duty sheriff before he could do any harm.

The boys’ Christmas vacation came after an unseasonably cold November. By early December Little Stone Lake was already mostly frozen over. The boys were down at the lake playing hockey, and mostly everyone else was ice skating. It seemed that most of the town had turned out to party on this very rare, unseasonably warm afternoon.

Charlie was up at the mill when a chill went through him. Right away, he had a premonition. But no … it was much more real. He knew that something terrible had happened. A minute or so later, his scanner beeped and he heard about the awful incident down by the lake.

He hopped into his pickup and raced down to the scene. But it was already too late.

And Charlie Jefferson learned that no matter what he could say or do, he could never be sure that his boys would be safe.

– This story, originally written in 2015, was resurrected from my “Works in Progress” folder

Sess 1 / June 1, 2015 .. Rev 7 / May 8, 2020

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May 8, 2020 … Copyright © 2020, Lloyd B. Abrams
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