sh. story--contest ''BOYS OF IDAHO''

It had to be 1963 because I remember that was the year Pres. J. F. K. died. Timmy, my best

friend, who had moved away to Wisconsin last fall, came to visit over the summer. My Grandmother was

always sweet on him anyway even before Timmy's mother got involved with her latest beau who had

them all pack up and drop everything like a bird pooping in it's cage when it's got no where else to go.



My Grandmother was really the only parent figure my brother, Jessie and I ever had or at least

remembered that is. Nearly everyone except for me and Jess called her Tizzie. Something about

on account of when she didn't get her ways most times she nearly went into a tizzie, or had a tizzie-fit, I

guess.



I never really witnessed it myself can't say I ever wanted to neither. I've heard others talk about her

tizzies at length as a matter of fact and I figured I might as well take their word for it rather than find out

the hard way.



But, I remember it like it was last Tuesday, the heat and humidity was so horrid it could have melted

the paint off your porch. Timmy, Jess, and I thought it would be genius to bike all the way to Potter's Hill

to take a dip in the pond; leaches or not. I knew she would never approve since it could dip a bit much

in some places. Besides it was on private property anyway.



"We're only going into town a bit. We'll be back way before supper," I managed to convince her.



"Tom, you make sure your brother Jess stays close now. You know how he has a tendency to

stray every now and then," She consoled.



As we were heading towards our bikes, I heard her yell, "turn around, let me capture my boys forever."

She always referred the three of us as her "Boys of Idaho", like the Three Musketeers, I suppose.



We made a half hearted effort to try and be spontaneous at least enough to appease her for the time

being. "Say cheese please," she sang from a short distance while taking what seemed to be the life

span of an old oak before snapping her brand new kodak instamatic.



Timmy looked back for half a second as if to take in a mental picture of his own before leaving for

Potter's Hill. He couldn't help but notice that Tizzie was look en way older now then even before, and it

really hadn't even been a year since the last time he saw her which was when his mother's idiot boyfriend

hauled them off to Wisconsin, the cow state or the dairy state or whatever the heck they all called it.



"This is going be pretty cool hey Tommy. I wander if the tree swing is still tied to that monstrous

sized maple, the one with the leafless branch that hangs over the water," Timmy threw out, grinning and

cackling the whole time he talked.



Jessie seemed a bit apprehensive all of a sudden. Slowing down his pedaling and peering over his

left shoulder to get a good look at Timmy and I, "You sure it's safe to swim in that old pond?" he scoffed.



"Of course, I hollered back. Why wouldn't it be?"



Pedaling our way there under the hot, blistering sun I began to imagine the cool water splash over me

as I impatiently dive in, drowning in it's immediate relief.



When we did reach the pond, I noticed the cattails were taller than the last time I was here, and more

of them. The sun looked like a giant fire ball up in the sky, and there were rows and rows of tall wheat

grass swaying to the quiet rhythm of the gentle breeze.



Timmy and Jess had already parted with their clothing, down to their under-shorts anyway.



Whotcha wait en for Tommy?"



"Yeah," Timmy agreed. "The water is perfect."



I didn't need to be convinced I told them, and stripped down to my birthday suit.



The hot afternoon went by so fast as we played in the water. We played marco polo, took turns

trying to drown each other, and getting up on top of each other's shoulders while the other one tried to

knock him into the water quicker than the person before him.



The tree with the swing on it had fallen clean into the pond so we sat on it every so often before

jumping off it or throwing one another off of it.



But we still had a good half-hour bike ride home before supper. "We better git to riding before we

miss dinner," I told um.



"Yeah, Grandma thinks we only went into town for a bit," Jessie added, boldly yet passively all in

the same breath.



" I suppose your right," Timmy said, "After all we don't want Tizzie to have a fit."



As the three of us mounted our old, beat up, and dusty Schwinn bikes, we couldn't help but laugh

at the thought of it. Sweet, gentle, Grams with the silver hair and tufts of red scattered about like a

carrot garden covered in heeps of white, billowy ash. Standing there stout and mad, hands waving

angrily in mid-air with her thick, stubby feet as if trying to collapse the floor in until it reached dirt at

the bottom of the cellar.



"You boys were supposed to be back home by dinner," I envisioned her hollering so loudly the

folks in the next town were taking bets on what was going to happen next.



We rode on pedaling as fast as our feet would permit, at times I felt my leg muscles lock up, and I

would take my fist and pound on them. Thankfully the air was cooling a little, at least, the mugginess

had lessened, and ten minutes into the ride home my hair was almost completely dry already.



What would our conversation be about I wondered, since we told Grams we went into town, we

would have to make something up if she asked about it. Or, maybe we could just focus on eat en

and complementing Grams on her fine mid-western cooking.



Just then, Jessie seemed to be having problems up a head and appeared to be stopping.



"What's wrong Jessie?" I asked with anticipation. Then I saw his pant leg wrapped around the

chain. It reminded me of a ball of yarn knotted and twisted and entangled up with other balls of yarn--

all enmeshed and interwoven into one huge mess-- unsure of where one started and the other one

stopped.



A few months back, Jessie had taken his chain guard off to tighten his chain and then never took

the time to put it back on again. Besides that, he said it looked cooler without it. I had to tear his

pant leg away from the chain after Timmy and I took turns trying to back the bike up while Jessie

tried to keep his balance. We were able to free him but his overhauls were torn and marked up of

grease tracks.



The sun was no longer a threat to us and we were nearly home, although the dust from the dirt

road continued to settle at our feet. And like stable horses returning to the barn each night, we rode

up, placing our dirt covered Schwinns aside, and began walking towards the porch steps.



"Grams, we're home," I screamed, from the bottom of my diaphragm.



There was no answer. "Grams," I yelled commandingly and with impatience. Still no answer.

Jessie and Timmy both searched feverishly throughout the small but gracious house.



There was a recipe book open on top of the kitchen table, but no sign that Grams had begun

to wisp anything together yet. My heart began to dance wildly and spastic, my mind searching for

answers to questions that had yet to arise.



Suddenly out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the cellar door slightly ajar, and like a bolt of

lightening without needing to strike twice, I charged for the stairs.



Slumped partly over a foot stool and a can of Frank's Sauerkraut, I found Grams nearly

unconscious.



"Is that you Tom?" she sighed.



"Yes Grams, it's me, I reassured her, while placing her hand in mine. Every thing's fine now, I

told her. Your boys are right here."



"Boys of Idaho?" she whispered sweetly.



"Boys of Idaho," I whispered back, as I watched her eyes close for the last time.



And even after all this time has passed, and I think of all the changes life can throw at

us in a mere life time, I can't help but think things happen for good reason, in other words--

it had to.