TURNING WINE INTO WATER

Reaching out and grasping a yellow-buttoned Daisy, Junior plucked its slender stem.  Using the thumb and forefinger of his other hand, he began to pull off its white petals -- one by one.  Chanting, he recited, “She loves me . . . She loves me not . . . She loves me . . . She loves me not . . . .”  When only a single petal remained -- after twenty-one had been removed -- he tossed the denuded flower head to one side and announced triumphantly, “She loves me!”

Emmet demanded, “Who  loves ya’?”

Rickie spoke up, mockingly, “Athelia Bradley loves him!  Every recess, she chases him all across th’ schoolyard, an’ around th’ schoolhouse, tryin’ to catch him . . . an kiss him!”

Junior blushed.  “Yuk!  I wish she wouldn’ do that! . . . Didja’ hafta’ remind me ‘bout it?”

“It’s true.  An’ Emmet’s seen her try’n kiss ya’.  Ain’t ya’, Emmet?”

Emmet, cognizant of Junior’s discomfort, didn’t answer.

Junior pined, “I sure as heck hope she don’t agin’ when school’s startin’ up nex---”

Emmet interrupted, “Let’s don’t talk ‘bout school none . . . I don’t wanta’ be reminded “bout it . . . Not now, anyways.”  In an endeavor to change the subject, he asked, “What’d you two do fer excitement this summer?  I hadda’ work th’ farm, an’ didn’ see ya’ much a-tall.”

Rickie, also eager to steer the conversation away from the confines of school, offered, “We nearly cap-size-ed in Junior’s dad’s boat . . . while coming through Hell’s Gate.”  He had enunciated the word “Hell’s” with relish. It always thrilled him to be able to utter the “swear word” with impunity.

Junior embellished his cousin’s recollection of their river adventure.  “Yeah.  We darn near sank . . . Coming through Hell’s Gate . . . In th’ thick of fog, too.”

“Jeepers.  I’ve heard of it.  Rapids, ain’t they?”  Not receiving an answer to his question, Emmet returned to his earlier query, “So.  What else did’ja do this summer?”

“Junior crashed his soapbox derby car!  It was a heckuva wreck.  Almos’ killed hisself.”

“I musta’ been going a hunder-ed miles an hour!”

Emmet was skeptical.  “You owned a soapbox derby car?  They’s expensive as all git out! . . . Did ya’ dad buy it for y---”

Rickie interrupted, “We made ‘em ourselves.”

“Oh.  When ya’ crashed . . . Did ya’ break a leg or nothin’?”

Junior answered proudly, “Nope.  Walked away from it, jus’ like that!  An’ th’ only thing left was th’ wheels.  An’ they were all bent to smithereens.”

“Oh.”  Emmet sounded unconcerned.  “What else ya’ do this summer?”

Rickie volunteered, “We made nickels . . . Out o’ buttons.  An’ we used ‘em to git all kinds o’ candy outa’ th’ machine at th’ train station.”

“You didn’ get away with that, did ya’?

Junior, pride in his voice, answered, “Yep.  An’ we took gum from ol’ Paddelton an’ Herman’s store, too.”  He neglected to add that he and his cousin were caught shoplifting, and were terrified that their mothers might hear of their idiotic transgression.

Recalling their disasterous model airplane fiasco, Rickie calmly stated, “We set ol’ Smithie’s shed afire; when we crashed a burning model airplane onta’ its tarpaper-covered roof.”

“You did what?”  Emmet paused before probing further, “Did his shed actually start to burn down?”

“Yep.”  Encouraged by Emmet’s obvious incredulity, Rickie, pointing to his cousin, continued, “An’ Junior saved me when th’ old coot tried to beat me with his knobby cane.”

“Saved ya’?  How?”

Junior responded, “I did a Injun war dance . . . To distract th’ ol’ crab.  So’s Rickie could git away.”

Rickie, laughing at the memory, turned toward Emmet and sputtered, “You . . . ha, ha . . .

shoulda’ . . . ha, ha . . . seen ‘im.  Craziest dance I ever seen.  But it worked good.  I got away ‘afore being whacked good an’ proper.”

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