The Cypress Trap

Chapter 1

Grover Lott hated the thought of swimming. What’s more, he hated the thought of jumping from the side of a cliff into the deep channel some thirty-odd feet below him. But what choice did he have?

Standing on the edge of the rocky precipice, he looked all the way down. Like fuzzy action figures in the blue water, four teenage boys splashed and whooped and called to him. Their voices carried up on the breeze and Grover squeezed his eyes shut. He tolerated those boys in gym class, believing he would never have to lay eyes on them again after graduating high school last May. Still, for some odd reason, their association continued. He wasn’t sure why.

Slipping a hand into the pocket of his cut-off jeans, he pulled out his lucky rabbit’s foot. His fingers caressed the soft pink fur, felt the solid splint of bone inside it. He squeezed it into his palm so tight his knuckles ached. It soothed him though, and gave him the courage to open his eyes.

Owen Meeks, his best friend since the third grade, stood beside him. Standing over six feet, but still a couple inches shy of Grover, Owen placed a hand on Grover’s shoulder. He spoke in a low, encouraging voice. “Come on! There’s nothing to it.” 

Grover looked past Owen to the rocky plateau behind them. Another teenager, a good twenty feet or so away, hollered as he pulled a blue-and-white striped collared shirt over his head. Owen waved both arms at the boy.

“Groves not movin’,” Owen yelled and nudged Grover a little harder. “Think he’s paralyzed with fear or somethin’.”

Grover relented and took a step back. He squeezed the rabbit’s foot tighter in his palm. Tall and skinny, barely weighing one sixty, he’d always loomed over the other boys in class. When he stood-up straight, he was easily six foot three. But he never stood-up straight. His head would hang low, his chin to his chest, especially when he walked through the crowded campus or in the school hallways between classes. His parents scolded him and told him to stop slouching. You’ll never play basketball. Or baseball. Or run track, they said. But he didn’t want to do any of those activities anyway. He only wanted to play the clarinet. That’s where he wished he was now – locked in his bedroom with his books, playing his clarinet.

Not outside in the heat. Not here on the cliff side with a group of juvenile delinquents he really didn’t know and didn’t care to know. Drinking. Swearing. Swimming.

Owen pushed him again. “You’ve seen us do it a thousand times. Hell, you’ve seen us do it two thousand times before.”

Grover looked down at his friend. For some reason, he realized long ago, Owen did care. Owen always wanted to run with this crowd. He wanted to belong. And, he wanted acceptance. It puzzled Grover. Even more perplexing was why Owen wanted Grover to be part of that group as well.

Grover stepped to the edge of the cliff and looked down. There was a long drop to the crystal waters below. Now, all four boys were grouped together in the channel, chanting, encouraging him to jump. Grover took a deep gulp of air and two steps back.

“I can’t do it. You can’t make me,” he said to Owen, then looked over to their buddy. Bare from the waist up, Darryl gripped his collared shirt in a way that made it look like a blue-and-white striped flag. He dropped it, slipped a pair of wire rimmed glasses back on his nose and marched over to them. The two boys grabbed hold of Grover’s arms and walked him back toward the ledge.

“Come on, Groves,” Owen said again. “There’s nothing to it.”

“Well, if you’re not goin, I’m goin.” Darryl released his grip, moved a couple of feet to the side and stepped out of his jeans. He looked back at Grover. “Ya know what the guys down there are think’n right now?”