The Contest: Circa 1957 WC 297

The Contest
Circa:1957
WC 297

The Contest: Who can lob a rock the farthest?

Ladies first.

My rock flies through the sky, landing on the other side of the street. Not bad for a girl. Jimmy's missile makes a high arc and lands in the Sullivan’s front yard, about three feet from the picture window. Roger chooses a skipping stone and lets loose. Yikes! The picture window is a goner.

I get ready to run.

I see the Withers' puke green Packard barreling down the street. Brakes screech—then a "thunk". Or vicey versy. Anywho, old Mr. Withers struggles out of the dented Packard.

We three run into the field next to the Sullivan's house. The boys disappear. I dive into the tall weeds about ten yards from them. Mr. Withers limps toward us, waving his walking stick and using the words Dad does when he’s really, really mad.

The old man pokes around in the overgrowth with his cane. I close my eyes and pray. Jimmy and Roger are whispering, leading the old man right to us. Stupid boys!

Suddenly, a HUGE black spider with yellow markings crawls onto the web right above my face. I remember my mother’s words. "Banana spiders look like black widows but they have yellow markings and are not deadly."

Harmless or not, as he crawls closer, I get ready to jump up and yell, "Here. Over here! I give up!"

Mr. Banana wanders off, and I settle in again.

Then I hear rat-fink Jimmy say, "We didn't do it!”

I sneak a peek. The boys are standing across from Mr. Withers.

Roger points in my direction. "Jackie did it! She’s hiding over there."

I stand up. I didn’t do it, but I keep my lip zipped. I’m no snitch.

Boys are such sissies!