The Book of Dema

CHAPTER ONE + The Creek

Two pairs of muddy blue Converse sneakers danced from rock to rock on opposite sides of the creek. They following the progress of a set of twigs afloat in the shallow rippled waterway. They had already made the trip through the route four times, conscripted into this childhood play by two wet and muddy boys. Fingers pointed excitedly at each stick as they vied for position on their way towards the finish line, marked by a slender branch that spread low over the creek bottom.

Thirty feet above, the trees arched together from opposite sides. They intertwined into a cathedral ceiling, creating a sanctuary to the boyhood imagination at play below. Places like this exist all over the world. This one, though, was made unique by this particular set of boys engaged in their watery competition. They were brothers, and they were at home here. The creek had been their playground since they were allowed to leave the house unsupervised six  years before. Now thirteen and eleven, the boys knew every turn and pool of this creek by heart. Rocks, roots, and protruding trees lined the steep banks of the waterway.

Getting in and out was part of the adventure, but never difficult for children used to climbing and grasping and jumping. The best parts of the creek lay far below the canopy of trees in a trench about three hundred feet long and fifteen feet deep. The original shallow flow, formerly near surface level, had been widened and deepened by the civil engineering department when the boys were small. It was meant to handle the run-off from the encroaching neighborhood during the rainy season, but as it turned out, it was too far from the homes to do that job well. It did its secondary job excellently. It was a perfect setting for the boys and girls who lived nearby to escape into a world of their own making.

Running out of the flat rocks, the boys splashed into the water as they followed their make-believe racing yachts. Ripples from their steps ringed out towards the sticks, washing one more quickly towards the finish line.

"Look out!" one hollered at the other, "You're giving yourself an advantage." Sure enough, the stick that belonged to the eleven-year-old swept under the tree branch five inches in front of the other. He looked back at his older brother with a big toothy grin.

"Three out of the last four. Looks like you picked the wrong stick again, Tyler. You have to pick one that doesn't have leaves or too many little sticks coming off of it. It's all about hydrodynamics," the boy said to his brother, who was fishing his stick out of the water.

"You're the expert, Zachary. I suppose if I am going to win any of these races, I am going to have to spend some time with that book of yours," there was a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

"What's wrong with my book?"

"Absolutely nothing. Aside from the fact it's a hundred years old, and it's about sea vessels."

"Grandpa said that water is water. It hits the prow of a boat, or a ship, or a stick all the same. The job of the designer is to reduce the amount of friction to the point that the boat just slides right through it." Tyler was not going to argue with Grandpa. The book, Unsteady Naval Hydrodynamics of Marine Vehicles, had been lost to the clutter of their grandparents' attic. It now lived on Zachary's nightstand in the bedroom they shared.

"Is this what you think about when you're racing stick boats in a creek?"

"Don't you?" Zachary responded.

Tyler looked at his brother and then at the stick in his hand.

"Not for a second. I am mostly thinking about how if I lose, you will keep me up all night talking endlessly about your glorious victories, and how the perfect stick picked you instead of the other way around." Zachary laughed, exposing those teeth again.

"When is Mom getting you those braces? Your mouth is a mess." Zachary's expression turned from mirth to embarrassed irritation.

"You're mean. Mom says we have to wait until next winter. I don't know why. Something about Madison's glasses. Are you ready to race again? Maybe you want to find another stick." Zachary scrunched up his face at his brother, for whom it was now confirmed knew nothing about hydrodynamics. "Would you like me to select one for you? I'll make sure it's good but not as good as mine."