First Ride by Frank Haberle

      Rickey fired the first arrow straight into the air. It wobbled above him,then fell, bouncing onto the ground between a beer can and his foot.

      The screen door slammed. Patrick, in the same brown t-shirt he’d worn allsummer, marched out into the yard. Rickey reached for another arrow.

      “Goddamn it’s hot,” Patrick said. He put his hands on his hips and spat onthe ground. “Let’s go to the ocean.”

      “Susan’s taking us to the ocean,” Rickey said. He looked over at the emptydriveway where the wood-paneled station wagon used to be.

      “I talked to her this morning. We’re meeting her at the beach. With Lanceand their friends. Where’d you find the arrows?”

      “Susan’s closet. The beach is pretty far. How we gonna get there?”

      “Well, I got a plan. We’ll ride bikes to the ferry. Then we’ll hitchhike tothe ocean.”

      “Hitchhike?” Rickey asked. “Like Hippies?” He clamped the bow between hislegs and loaded another arrow. “We’re not supposed to leave the islandwithout a grown up. Dad said so.”

      “Dad said a lot of things. Like don’t play with Susan’s arrows.”

      Rickey scratched the back of his head. “ Hitchhike?”

      “It’s easy. People pick you up. You just gotta get that first ride.”

      Along clump of orange hair fell across Patrick’s face. He tried snapping hishead to the side, but it stayed. He combed it behind his ear with hisfingers.

      “Can we go look at the dead deer carcass?” Rickey asked.

      “That’s stupid. I want an adventure. Let’s go to the ocean.”

      “We need money for the ferry.”

      Patrick grinned and pulled a ten-dollar bill out of his pocket.

      Rickey wiped his hands against his sides. “Susan said I need a bath.” Heshot another arrow, which spun wildly toward the house. They watched itbang against the aluminum siding, then they froze. Their mother stood infront of the house, clutching her housedress to her stomach, squinting atthem.

      “Look at this goddamn yard,” she said.

      Rickey tried to hide the bow behind his back. Patrick started picking upbeer cans.

      “Look at all this goddamn crap,” she said. “What the hell is this in themiddle of the yard? Your goddamn sister. Left her goddamn hippie belt inthe middle of the yard.”

      Rickey watched her bend down and take hold of a long multicolored stripe.As she picked it up, it started writhing. She dropped it and screamed,turned and ran back for the house.

      “It’s a snake,” Rickey whispered as the screen door slammed shut. He loadedanother arrow and shot it above his head; it plunged into the grass betweenthem.

      “C’mon,” Patrick said. “Get out of your pajamas. Put on some pants. Let’sget going.”

      Rickey followed Patrick up the dirt trail they had dug all summer fromtheir house, through an old cornfield, to the main road. Dry husks scratchedinto his legs and arms and the hot air choked him. They spilled out onto theblacktop. Rickey saw heat rising in shimmering waves from the pavement. Asthey rode by the inlet, he looked at the still blue water and stopped.

      “C’mon Patrick!” he yelled to his brother ahead of him. “Let’s nail theboat!”

      “We don’t have time,” Patrick yelled back. But he automatically turnedaround and followed Rickey into the reeds. At the water’s edge theycollected handfuls of flat rocks. They took turns skipping the rocks towarda moss-covered, half-sunk dinghy.

      “God…damn…good…for…nothing!” yelled Patrick with each skip of his firstrock. It veered to the left of the dinghy.

      “Lazy…stupid!” yelled Rickey. His rock skipped only twice.

      On the far side of the inlet, laughter burst from the long line of summerhomes. A group of boys ran out from behind one of the big houses, crossed aneat green lawn, and swam out to a raft with a ladder.

      Patrick skipped another rock. “God…damn…hippie…belt,” He yelled. Rickeywatched intently as a big boy pushed a smaller one off the raft, then pumpedhis fists.

      “They’re playing king of the raft!” yelled Rickey.

      Patrick threw his handful of rocks into the inlet.

      “This is stupid,” he said. “We gotta get going.”

      As they started up the first big hill, Rickey got off his bike and walked.

      “C’mon, wimpus!” Patrick yelled from the top.

      “I think I need more air in my tires,” Rickey said when he caught up.

      “I think you need longer legs.”

      “I thought Susan was going to take us to the beach today. She used to takeus all the time,” Rickey said. He pictured Susan and her friends sprawledout on the beach, baking in baby oil, smoking cigarettes.

      “Listen,” Patrick said. “When we get there, I want to play catch withLance.”

      “Lance can throw a football, like, a hundred yards,” said Rickey.

      “Yeah, well, you can’t catch it,” said Patrick. “I can catch it. So don’tbe a dork.”

      “I think Susan likes Lance,” said Rickey.

      “Susan’s a dip. C’mon! we’re never going to get there.” Rickey scratched himself, then pushed off with both feet. “C’mon, let’srace down bloody murder hill!” he yelled, pedaling furiously.

      They bought two grape fantas and a handful of candy bars at the cornergrocery. The old lady, squinting behind inch-thick glasses, turned to reachinto an icebox for the sodas. They took turns stuffing their pockets withmore candy. The old lady turned and frowned at them. She rang up theregister. “Dollar fifty,” she said.

      They rode side by side down the street. Rickey watched Patrick open hissoda with one hand, take a drink, move it to the hand holding thehandlebars, bite the head off two pixie sticks, and drain the contents downhis throat. Rickey did his best to follow Patrick’s effortless routine, butstruggled to steer with one hand. He choked on the pixie sticks. Sodaspilled from the corners of his mouth.

      Rickey stopped at a one-lane road. “I want to check out the dead deercarcass,” he said. A stream of purple saliva poured down his chin andsoaked his shirt.

      “It’s the opposite direction from the ferry,” Patrick said. But again, hegave in.

      They followed the road to its end, on the island’s main highway. A grocerytruck whistled past them as they sat on their bikes, staring at the deaddeer carcass. It lay in the high grass, a tangle of torn hide, bleechedribs, and grimacing teeth.

      Patrick popped a tootsie roll into his mouth. “Well, goddamn,” he said. Hebelched.

      Rickey stared into the deer’s hollow eyes. “Aw, poor guy,” he said.

      “Scream bloody murder,” Patrick said.

      Rickey’s eyes welled up with tears. “Sorry old guy,” he said. “Sorry olddeer.”

      “Oh, knock it off,” said Patrick.

      They practiced wheelies for an hour in a dirt lot behind the school. Thenthey rode to the diner. From their counter stools, Patrick orderedpolitely: “Two hamburgers and two cokes please sir!” The counter man didn’tlook at them. When they got up he wiped the counter angrily. Patrickcounted out his change carefully and went to the counter to pay.

      Standing behind Patrick, Rickey’s eye caught the matchbox car display.

      “Patrick?” he said. He pointed to the car he wanted; a miniature stationwagon. Patrick put his hands back into his pockets. “We don’t have themoney,” he said. “We need the money for the ferry.”

      “Please, please, please?” asked Rickey. He looked up into his big brother’s eyes.

      “Okay, okay, I’ll buy it for you.” The counter man reached behind him andpulled out a little yellow box. “That’ll be another 65 cents,” he said.

      “Look at those clouds,” Rickey said. They were on a clear stretch of roadnow, the road to the south ferry. “Dad told me those are cumulus clouds.”

      “Just keep riding,” Patrick said. Rickey could see that Patrick wasgetting tired too; his face was red and his hair was soaked.

      “Dad said that means there’s a storm coming.”

      “They’re pretty far away, those clouds,” said Patrick. The houses on the left side gave way to deep woods. Shade blanketed theroadway. No trespassing signs were posted on every tree trunk.

      “The great private forest,” Patrick said. “They say there’s a pack of wilddogs in there. When they get really hungry, they come out looking for kids.”

      “Cut it out,” said Rickey, eyeing the woods warily.

      “They say the dogs chased down a little kid once, dragged him right off hisbike.”

      Patrick started riding ahead. Rickey churned his legs as hard as he could,but when he looked up again, Patrick was just a small dot on the horizon.He saw Patrick arrive at the ferry dock. A ferry started unloading threerows of cars—first the center, then the right, then the left. He moved tothe left side of the road-- his dad always told him to ride against traffic.Or was it ride with traffic, and walk against it? The cars came at him withincreasing speed. Horns blew, people yelled. Rickey struggled to keep hiseyes on the thin strip of pavement. When he caught up with Patrick at thedock, the ferry was still there. He wiped the sweat from his forehead.

      “We’re not allowed to leave the island,” he said.

      “Don’t be a wimpus,” Patrick said. They dropped their bikes and walkedonto the empty deck. Patrick counted out some change and gave it to a largeman. Rickey felt a lump rise in his throat as the chains pulled shut andthe ropes pulled away from the pilings. But when he joined Patrick at thebow of the boat, cool salt air met his damp forehead. Light sparkledeverywhere off the waves.

      “Listen, when we get to the ocean,” Patrick said. “Let’s sneak up and laydown on the beach right next to them, like we’ve been there all day long.When Susan looks up and sees us, and asks how we got there, just smile andsalute. Like we’ve been there all day.”

      Patrick leaned over the steel bulkhead. Climbing on a wood block, Rickeyleaned over too. Cold water splashed his face and soaked through his shirt.

      “Do this,” yelled Patrick. He held his arms out. “Scream bloody murder!”he yelled.

      “Scream bloody murder!” Rickey giggled. Then he froze.

      “Patrick cut itout,” he said. “Here comes the ferry guy.”

      “SCREAM….BLOODY…MURDER!”

      “Cut it out! We’re gonna get reamed.”

      The ferry guy came up next to them and leaned on the bulwark. He woreknee high rubber boots and a yankees cap. Rickey stared at his forearms;they were bigger than his legs.

      “What’s happening men?” the ferry guy said.

      “Nothing,” said Patrick.

      “Nothing,” said Rickey.

      “Nice time a day huh?”

      “We’re going to the ocean!” Said Rickey.

      “The ocean, huh! That’s just great,” said the ferry guy, looking out to thebay.

      “How you getting to the ocean?”

      “Our sister’s picking us up at the dock,” said Patrick.

      “No she’s not. We’re gonna hitchhike! Like Hippies!” said Rickey.

      “Well that sounds great, that sounds like a whole lot of fun,” said theferry guy. He looked the two boys over.

      “Hey, haven’t I seen you guys before? Aren’t you Eddie O’Connell’s boys?”

      “Yeah,” said Patrick.

      “Oh,” He said. He scratched the stubble on the side of his face. “How’syour mother getting along?”

      “Oh, she’s doing just great!” said Patrick. “Thank you for asking!”

      “Well, glad to hear that,” the ferry guy said, pulling on a chain. “Youguys know its gonna be dark in about half an hour, right?” He turned to walkto the back of the boat.

      As he walked away, Rickey whispered, “Did you know him?”

      The ferry guy stopped and turned. “Huh? Did I know who?”

      “He wants to know if you know Lance, our big sister’s friend.” Patricksaid.

      The ferry guy shook his head, chuckled and turned, kicking a few woodblocks over to the side of the deck. “I sure as hell don’t,” he said,walking away. “I sure as hell don’t know anybody named Lance.”

      They stood under the lone streetlamp, under an umbrella of bugs—mothsfluttering helplessly, horseflies, hissing beatles. They looked out at theempty ferry dock, the steel ramp pulled up against the horizon. The bayfaded from blue to black. Their island began to disappear. As the lastcolors drained from the sky, a light came on from a house across the water.

      Across the parking lot, a big black car stood next to a phone booth. A manwas yelling at somebody. Occasionally Rickey saw the red glow of acigarette. But he tried not to look.

      “This is stupid,” he said, scratching his leg.

      “Yeah,” said Patrick.

      “Nobody’s at the ocean now.”

      “Yeah, I know.”

      “Susan’s not waiting for us at the beach.”

      “Just shut up.”

      “Why didn’t she take us? What did she say?”

      Patrick picked up a rock and threw it at the lamppost. He missed. “Shesaid she’s not taking us to the beach anymore,” Patrick said. “She said she’s not our babysitter.”

      “We’re not supposed to leave the island. We’re supposed to be home by dark.Mom’s gonna ream us out.”

      “No she’s not.”

      Thunder rumbled somewhere in the woods.

      “Shouldn’t we call her?” Rickey asked.

      Patrick pulled the grime-filled pockets of his shorts out. A tootsie rollwrapper fluttered to the ground. “We can’t now.”

      They watched the driver get off the phone, climb into his car and turn itin a wide gravel arc back onto the road. Rickey froze in its headlights.Patrick waved his thumb wildly in the air. The car drove past them, thenstopped up ahead. Its red brake lights lit up the woods. It startedbacking up towards them.

      Rickey felt his throat tighten. Patrick clapped Rickey on the back. “See,I told you it was easy,” he said.

      “Yeah,” Rickey said.

      “Like I said, you just gotta make a plan and stick to it. Just gotta havea little faith in your old big brother.”

      “I got faith, old big brother! Bloody Murder!”

      Rickey heard “Sweet Caroline” playing on the radio as the car pulled upnext to them. The passenger door swung open. Rickey looked in. The driverleaned over, an old man. He was completely bald. He wore safety glassesand a black shirt. An unlit cigarette was tucked into the corner of hismouth. “You guys need a lift someplace?”

      “We’re going to the ocean!” said Rickey. Standing at the car door, thesweet smell of stale beer and ash enveloped him. He started to climb intothe car.

      As he stepped up, he felt Patrick’s hand clasp his pants leg.

      “No, no we’re not going anyplace, we’re okay,” said Patrick.

      “C’mon! Hell, I can take you to the ocean.”

      “No thanks,” said Patrick. “We’re waiting for my sister.”

      Another rumble of thunder filled the woods, this time all around them. Thedriver took off his glasses and rubbed his face, hard, with one hand andthen the other. “You better get in,” he said. “It’s gonna rain.” He reachedout to take Rickey by the arm.

      Rickey’s leg caught inside the car door. He stumbled, halfway between thecar and the road. He felt Patrick pull him with all his weight, tugging himdown onto the ground. “No thanks!” Patrick said again. The driver pulledthe passenger door closed. “Hey, okay, suit yourselves,” he said. He droveoff down the road toward the ocean.

      They stood alone again, under the streetlamp. The first big drops of rainstarted splashing on the black canopy of trees all around them. Then,slowly, from out in the bay, a beam of light lit up the docks andilluminated the woods.

      “The ferry’s coming back!” yelled Rickey. He followed Patrick to thecenter of the roadway to watch the boat pull into the slip. The ferry guyopened the gates, looked up and saw them. He waved with both arms,beckoning them back on to the boat. The rain started coming down in sheetsall around them. They ran like hell.