THE RIVER

THE RIVER - RYDER F. HYDE

The '80's Corvette was the meanest looking car Joel had ever seen - a vibrant blue with a large hood, a streamlined design, and an "88" written delicately on the side in white. He made a low hum with his mouth as the car vibrated from the force of it's engine, trembling as the firetruck-red Camaro Z-28 did expert donuts around it; it dragged it's tiny plastic wheels against the carpet at odd angles and almost growled. Cross-legged behind the audience of his sister's barbies, he clenched his hands: if the Corvette was mean, the Camaro was down-right vicious.

Slowly, the racers rose high into the air, snapping and biting like hungry dogs. The subtle ringing in his ears almost drowned out the murmur of voices and the clattering of dishes downstairs, his eyes straining and his head throbbing as the cars sped off across the room to join the others, engines shaking violently with anticipation.

Joel rose to his feet, clutching the newest edition of Car Magazine to his chest. "Ready-" The ringing in his ears got louder, "-set," the cars began to rock back and forth as lighting-like shocks surged through his tiny frame.

"Go!" He shouted, and as if a spell had been cast the cars went, all at once but at different speeds, racing around corners and slamming each other out of the air. Joel watched intently from below, jumping up and down as the ringing grew loud enough to block out anything else.

All of the others lay diguarded on the ground - proven useless by the biggest race of the season. Neck and neck, the Corvette and the Camero raced around the room at ungodly speeds, so fast Joel's trained eyes could barely follow them. They threw toys off of the shelves and knocked each other into walls - desperate and clawing their way to the finish line. At the final lap, Joel held his breath.

Then, just like a real life comic book in the middle of his very own room, the Camaro flew directly into the Corvette - knocking the toy out of the air and sending it flying to the ground.

"And the crowd goes wild!" Joel wailed a little too loudly as the Camaro crossed the finish line in a blur, screeching to a halt midair as the Corvette laid below,  wheels up on the carpet in solemn defeat, the stands total anarchy while the audience jumped and hugged and shook their fists at the winning car.

"Joel!" Hollered Mrs. Anderson from downstairs.

And just like that, it was over, the Camaro dropping right out of the air and the room falling painfully still. The only thing left with any life was Joel, who slowly made his way out of his room to the top of the stairs and briefly wondered if he was in any trouble.

Mrs. Anderson chuckled. "Get your little butt down here and set the table, dad says breakfast's nearly ready!" She hollered, and she didn't have to tell him twice. One moment he was upstairs and the next he was racing to the kitchen, Camaro flying expertly into his jeans pocket and behind him the room cleaning itself up.

Morning was his favourite time in the Anderson household. Warm sun bathed the windows, the small kitchen bustling and voices light, the smell of bacon and coffee filled the house with a warm, homey feeling he'd only ever experienced in the Anderson's quaint little cottage of a house that all the housewives gawked over at dinner parties.

Faster than Mrs. Anderson could greet him the table was set he was sat down in one of the chairs, quietly content and out of the way.

"Why we having pancakes, mama?" June blurted rather rudely as her mother loaded up the top of her stack with fresh fruit from their homegrown bushes, whip cream, and maple syrup. She was a tall girl, awkwardly so for her age - but she supposedly got that from her mother. She hadn't quite lost all her baby fat yet either, tanned skin covered with dark freckles and long brown hair combed and elegantly braided back and over her shoulder by her mother, just like it was every morning.