01 January - the drowning at Los Gatos

the frozen rope

12:01PM CST, January 28th

Lake Road below Cooper's Hill, Leasburg, Missouri

("Five. Four. Three. Two. One. Zero.")

Over time, the stories we tell about the most important moments in our lives become quite well-rehearsed. The endings become rosier or more terrifying or they are presented to listeners as clear evidence of the miracles that God thinks we deserve. They are simple – streamlined – efficient. But when we leave out all the trifling little details, it's as if we've removed the filling that made a once-plump teddy bear so huggable. No matter how much we want to jump ahead to the happy or horrible ending, we still live in a world of facts and facets, so (until we finish) we will walk straight ahead and not jump.

εεε

Ruth Huntington stood in the doorway behind her husband. Even though very little time had elapsed since her son had fallen into the well, Ruth was almost too ashamed to take that first step off the porch. Somehow, it seemed too late to do anything. Her son, her last surviving son, in fact, was howling just a few feet away. Earl was obviously in great pain or overcome with fear or experiencing something nameless and horrible, but Ruth couldn't move. Her only response (at first) was to cover her mouth with her hand and quietly berate herself.

"How could you? The house was warm enough. We didn't need..." Then her voice trailed off.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Avery Cooper shouting, "We need a rope! Didn't you hear me!?! We need a rope. Marty's out there."

Without another thought, Ruth ran straight toward the well. No hat. No coat. No rope in hand. She just ran straight toward the well. Halfway there though, she stopped abruptly. Spinning quickly on the snow, she turned and breathlessly said, "Thank you, Mr. Cooper. Thank you for helping Earl."

Without thinking, Avery tipped his gray fedora and smiled. He was about to wink at Ruth when he realized that she had referred to her son as Earl and not Marty. In the half second that followed, Avery imagined that she had deliberately corrected him. He replayed the comment in his mind and each time he heard her words, they sounded more like a rebuke. It reminded him of all those people who came up to him after a show and asked for their money back. He never once relented. He'd just walk away from them after saying, "What did you expect for a nickel?"

Avery smashed his hat on his head and turned toward Martin Huntington. His soft smile was now grim. Although he expected Martin's expression to match his own, the younger man's face was nearly blank. His body was also motionless. In an attempt to get Martin Huntington to move, Avery grabbed him by the arm and repeated his command. "Marty!" he screamed, "We need a rope."

This time, Avery emphasized Martin's name with such vehemence that it stood out in a peculiar way. But Martin Huntington didn't notice. For him, the invisible connection from the abandoned well to his ears carried only two sounds. First, there were his son's cries – those were loud, long, and intermittent. In the spaces between the cries, Martin heard the silence. It was the same dull empty silence that he had heard five years earlier. Back then, that silence had filled his oldest son's bedroom as the boy blew out his last earthly breath. And therein lay the problem. The fever that no doctor seemed able to explain had weakened Martin Jr. to such an extent that Martin Sr. was never sure if he had heard the absolute last breath or whether the final ones he heard had been imagined. That was five years earlier and the silence from the abandoned well was just as terrible.

Avery gave Martin a small push in the back. It was barely a touch, but it was all that was necessary to get Martin to finally move. From there, Martin ran recklessly across the snowy yard to the tool shed. The door was wide open and Martin was momentarily relieved to see a good length of rope coiled on the inside of the door handle.