Knocking Around Inside My Head: Weekend Write-In

The Great Dismal Swamp (#fixed)

A swollen yellow moon hung low over the Great Dismal Swamp. The squeal of breaks and smell of burning rubber impregnated the stillness of the suffocatingly humid summer night.  One regret flashed before each of the three handsome Lewin brothers' eyes as the tires left the road and Suburban sailed through the air.

Bryan lamented not sleeping with his high school sweetheart before they left for college; she had found another Romeo for the task.

It pained Chris that he would never be a physician like his father. The medical school acceptance letter in his back pocket had prompted tonight's celebration.

Stu wished he hadn't finished the squirrel pie. Hurling would ruin their father's truck–wait, he was gonna die!

All three strapping young men screamed like little girls.

They didn't have time to register that they didn't die on impact. Panic struck immediately as water rushed in through the open windows. The boys scrambled out of the truck as it gurgled and heaved before coming to a rest on the silty bottom of the bog, the front half of the vehicle fully submerged. They coughed and sputtered to the shore and crawled out onto the muddy banks. 

Nobody spoke for a minute as the weight of what happened sobered them up considerably.

"God damn," said Chris in a low monotone voice. Stu suppressed a snicker. More silence.

Then clapping broke the tension.

"Niiice work, boooys," came a slow southern drawl. A middle-aged man sporting cut off hunting fatigues and a greasy mullet ambled over. "Neeeda  hand?" He nodded back to his jacked-up monster-sized pick-up truck with three other goons passed out inside.

Six men, albeit drunk men, braved the copperheads in the swamp to push, and with the added effort, Cooter's truck pulled the Suburban to shore. Chris opened the driver's side door and emptied the brown water out. A couple of fish tumbled out onto the ground and flopped in the bright moonlight.

*  *  * 

"Let's take the Suburban to church today," said their mother. Her high heels clicked down the front steps. Bryan, Chris, and Stu stood together with their father on the lawn looking remarkably presentable. 

"Na, let's walk. It's a beautiful morning," suggested Chris. His mother ignored him, opened the passenger side door and got in. The brother's exchanged a glance and stuffed themselves in the back. Their father started the engine. The truck lurched at first but then rolled smoothly out of the driveway. 

"Whew," exclaimed their mother.  "You need to wash that animal of yours, it reeks of wet dog in here."

"Sure, Ma," replied Stu. "We'll do it this afternoon." Their father flashed them a displeased glare in the rearview mirror. 

When they arrived at church, the boys' mother immediately joined a flock of women. Their father pulled them aside.

"What happened to the truck?" he demanded. Bryan, Chris, and Stu exchanged well-practiced looks of innocence with their father. His face reddened, and although his sons were all taller than him now, he could still make them tremble in their Sunday best. "I don't know what you boys did to the truck," he seethed, "or how you fixed it. But I know SOMETHING happened."