The Road To Utopia - 2. Much More Than Saddle Sore

The ride was uneventful. Each senior had been provided a map and driving instructions from the office of Preston Sherman, our principal and father to Marty.

“The map says this place is a half mile ahead on the right T:” Marty pointed to the road sign, “Utopia 3 miles.”

A sign informed us Crocket’s Corral was ahead on the right. The Mustang glided into the parking lot and eased into a space near a couple of cars I recognized as Owen’s and Fuzz’s. An instant after I killed the engine Marty threw open his door,

“I see somebody I need to talk to,” he’d levered himself out of the car and turned to shut the door. “I’ll catch up with you guys after while T,” and he hurried away, toward a clump of mesquite. I sidled out from my seat, shut the car, and headed toward the ranch entrance. My vision fixed on a Harley insignia and a few hundred pounds of gleaming steel. I was dazzled by the chrome-plated testosterone that was an FXE 1200 Superglide.

I stared at the metal sex-sculpture for a few seconds longer before looking around for Marty. He was far behind me, in the mini-thicket talking to someone a bit taller, wearing a baseball cap. I stood pondering who the other guy was for a second, before turning to join my gang for this picnic.

The entrance was a gate bordering the parking lot. Hanging from the crosspiece overhead by dangling chains was a placard inviting everyone to “Mosey In and Have Fun or Tucker out Trying.” I glanced back. The two slowly approached from 300 or so feet in a straight path towards the gateway. I turned and passed through the gate.

The dude ranch meeting area was a series of log construction buildings with corrugated tin roofs. One was clearly marked as the office. Another was a pavilion with a myriad of ceiling fans overhead, and many 8 foot long folding tables spread around throughout with wooden benches. Maybe a hundred or so of my class, and all of my teachers sat and chatted over soft drinks.

“Hey buds.” I hollered as I reached the table where my friends were seated.

“T!” They shouted.

Russ dragged out the chair between Kelly and himself and patted it. Kelly took my arm the instant I’d lit on the chair. She tugged me into a hug and smacked my cheek. (I’d wager Kelly left ‘jungle red’ lip prints behind.)

Fuzz said, “I wanna ride a pony George. I wanna pet it and love it and keep it for a friend. I wanna ride a pony George,” paraphrasing the old Warner Brothers Cartoon. Everyone laughed.

A bridal path is a bridal path, and if a horse has spent enough time riding the same path, it can be a very boring experience for an experienced rider. Most of us were experienced riders. Every one of us had at least ridden at school, or at the Owen place in Leakey. Horses were part of the landscape in this part of the country, right next to chickens, cattle, yellow dogs and hormonally charged teenage boys.

Dude ranch horses only know how to mosey, that’s not even a decent gait. They just mosey and in single file. If you aren’t on the lead horse, all you see is horse’s butt and low hanging tree branches. I wasn’t on the lead horse, but I rode right behind it. I felt sorry for it though. It was carrying the obese and spur happy trail guide. It was one of the broadest and tallest old Morgan horses I’d ever seen.

The ride was very slow and other than a glimpse of a creek bed the whole path was pretty much on level, or gently sloping ground.

Something about the gait of the horse I rode made the experience less than enjoyable. Maybe it was the bounce. Perhaps having nothing to look at but a whole lot of horse hiney was making the ride a torture for my butt. What I did know was the ride didn’t want to end.

We rode for about half an hour into the bottom of a shallow valley. I figured it must be parallel with the entrance to the day camp’s parking lot. The bridle path was flat, with no scenery other than trees, and an occasional tame deer, or mountain goat. Behind me Fuzz was quiet and rarely spoke up except to warn me of low hanging branches ahead.

Once we were all back on terra firma, I heard Russ and Junior talking. Junior said, “That sucked in a whole rainbow of flavors.”

I was caught up in a conversation with 2 of the Yantsy girls and Tamara, but it was said solely for Fuzz’s ears.

“The whole ride I couldn’t get over the similarity between that horse’s ass and Fuzz’s huge old butt.” The girls laughed, but I watched as Fuzz jerked into a lunge my way. I was off like a shot.

“T. Get your ass back up here. We need to be having us some fun.” Russ called laughing. I tried to stay even with the group, while evading Fuzz, but one of my boots caught in some sort of bramble. I fell to the ground, hitting my forehead on a small boulder. Okay, it was a fist-sized clod of dirt one of the old nags must have kicked up, perhaps the one I had ridden. Russ tugged me to my feet. He and Junior inspected my forehead.

“Nothing wrong here but your ugliness T.” Russ tapped my shoulder. All my friends laughed as I sizzled in mock anger.

We walked at a leisure pace. At one point the terrain to our right dropped off. An almost vertical cliff revealed a lake in the shape of a dinosaur footprint ten feet below us. Fuzz walked to the ledge, he sat, his legs dangled over the edge a bit, before he dropped from sight. We could all see him stand next to the lake below. Fuzz motioned with his hands we were to follow. Russ handed the girls, then Junior, Prince and myself down to Fuzz, before lowering himself down to the lakeshore.

As Russ climbed down, Fuzz leered at me, still in his grasp.

“See what happens when you call someone a Donkey Butt, T!” He swung me horizontally, right to left, head and toe.

“I didn’t call you a Donkey Butt Fuzz!” I managed to squeak out.

“I said you looked just like that big ole horse’s ass!” I got one bit of a laugh out as I soared up and across to the center of the damned lake.

I sputtered and steamed as I surfaced. A single flip of my hair and an indignant toss of my head was all the recognition I gave Fuzz as Russ helped me pull my boots form mud near the shore. Once on dry land I scurried toward a signpost ahead. I followed a path marked by arrows to the parking lot.

I was soaked and still dripped as I passed the dining pavilion. Several of my classmates laughed at my predicament. I ignored the taunts as I headed to my car. In the trunk was a rucksack with my stuff from track; a t-shirt or two several pairs of socks, two jocks straps, shorts and two pairs of trainers. I grabbed what I needed and sidled over to that bramble of mesquite. No one was around as I stripped and changed into some of my less than clean track stuff. I left the bramble bound for the dining pavilion.

As I passed gateway once again I checked the time. Thank gods for Timex. It was almost 11:00. Most of our senior class was seated waiting on a speech from our Principal, and then the benediction before mealtime. A few classmen and women were still out on horseback, and a few had braved the still cool morning air and the chilly waters of the pool. Eckert Peabody principal of the high school, and Preston Sherman, principal for the senior class were stood either side of the makeshift lectern. Several students wrapped in towels sporting a definite blue cast hurried to be seated.

“Students and faculty of Bernard Raleigh High School,” Leticia Bauers, captain of the debate team annunciated most eloquently, “At this time I ask you all to rise for an invocation to be led by Mr. Fred Felts, chaplain at the Love Family Funeral home, to be followed by a few short words from our principals Mr. Peabody, and Mr. Sherman.”

As we all stood someone called out: “Quick Mr. Peabody, to the Way-back Machine!”

Owen was near enough to snicker before Marty spoke:

“Quiet you!”

Everyone at our table giggled as Mr. Felts began his prayer. Marty’s dad glared at his son and the rest of us at the table as the prayer ended. Peabody and Sherman had their segment, and then settled back in front of their freshly served plates of food. We all headed for serving tables which offered; barbecue, potato salad and our choice of beans, green, pork and, or the Ranch variety. We each grabbed a couple of drinks and ambled back to our table to eat.

During the meal, I witnessed Owen and Marty talking heads together. Occasionally they glanced at me. A time or two Owen would lean back and around Tamara, to speak with the stranger.

Russ and Fuzz were seated facing one another. I sat next to Russ. I turned to Fuzz stared him in the eyes and declared;

“You’re dead to me!” and with as stone and expression as I could muster turned to talk with Russ. Russ was shock. I caught his eye and winked

We sat, we talked, we joked, we ate, and renewed friendships that had been. Owen, Marty, Fuzz, Russ, even those three cheerleaders and I bonded at that table. I was also aware that Fuzz occasionally glanced my way.

After we’d eaten and discarded the trash, we rose and walked along a manicured field, between the end of the bridal path and where the ranch’s buildings were situated. We passed an area for soccer marked off with chalk lines. At either end stood the netted goals. An area further along was laid out with bases and baselines.

I drew even to my friends. A game of horseshoes was ongoing in a sand-filled pit further along. Parallel to that pit a net stood at the center of an area marked for volleyball. Several volleyballs lay about. I suggested a game. Fuzz stood closest to me. He smiled, took me by the shoulder. I flinched, flashed him a Mr. Hyde glare, but allowed myself to be led to the net. Russ laughed “Yeah, right!”

Fuzz, Prince and Junior laughed. I was incensed and maybe pouty. Fuzz smiled and took me by a shoulder. I was led to the net. Russ stood opposite me holding up a ball.

“Try to return the ball T.”

He served the ball. I leapt my highest, but the darn thing flew past inches above my fingertips.

“See!” Russ smirked. I shook my head. A flash of an idea popped into my head.

“What about baseball?” I suggested. Fuzz, Russ and Junior stared back the way we’d come.

“Sounds all right,” Russ glanced over. “You and me captains Fuzz?”

“Yeah Russ.”

“Well then, I choose T.” Russ looked at me

Prince poked my shoulder. I turned. Prince hopped from foot to foot, but he smiled as he danced.

“I gotta go see the man, T. Save me a place,” and took off. The others turned to watch Prince sprint off.“

“Doodie calls!” Fuzz yelled. In a softer voice he added, “I’ll take his highness!”

Prince sprinted back a few minutes later. An entourage followed: the rest of the cheerleaders, Owen, Marty and the real tall guy in the baseball cap. Coach Hardeway and Principal Sherman followed with the bats, gloves and balls. Behind them a smaller group: Bart, Stan and Lance, guys from my track team, Prince’s girl Steffi. Two of Russ and Marty’s teammates, Gilbert and Danny were further back, but ran to catch up.

Fuzz, Owen and Marty were all at least six feet tall. The new guy was much taller. Junior, Owen, Kayla, and Tamara were picked on our team. Fuzz chose Marty and the real tall guy. Fuzz just pointed and nodded when choosing the new guy. Russ called Lance, and finally his two teammates. Fuzz snapped up Bart Stan and Steffi.

Russ, Fuzz and the coach stood at pitcher’s mound. Coach flipped a coin, caught it. He looked at Fuzz and pointed to home plate. They were at bat. I grabbed the catcher’s mitt. Owen grabbed a glove and softball.

I caught as he threw a few practice pitches. Junior was playing first base; Tamara was centerfield, Kayla as second base. Russ played third base.

First up was Prince. The pitch was thrown, Prince connected with a drive to Owen. One out. Next up was Marty. He hit deep behind second base and made it to first. Kelly batted next. She popped two fouls before making it to first on a bunt toward third base. Kyley struck out. The new guy was up. Owen tossed him two balls, before he connected with a foul down the first base line. Owen lined up for the next pitch. The ball stung my hand through the mitt. The ball almost hit the new guy who leapt back just in time. In the process, he tripped and fell on his ass. His hat flew off. He had red hair. The guy was beautiful. His eyes were either blue, or green. He stood up to dust off. He kept looking at me, then away. His face split with a slight grin. No, it was more like a smirk. Something about him was familiar. The guy retrieved his hat, picked up the bat. Owen pitched. The boy’s bat connected, driving the ball over the chalk drawn fence behind third base. The score was 3 - 0 with two outs. Fuzz was at bat. He hit a pop fly into Junior’s glove.

I was at bat next. The red head and Marty warmed up with the ball. The redhead was pitching. Marty walked behind me. He smiled wildly at me as he passed. The red head threw the pall. Ball one according to Marty’s dad.

I fouled on the next two pitches. I was able to pop up a ball to Kelly at second, who completely missed it. She chased the ball. I made it to second, and ran to third. I tagged on third as the ball hit Fuzz’s glove. Junior hits a strong fly ball past Kyley, driving me home. First Kayla and then Tamara strike out. Owen gets 4 balls and tags first. Russ hits over the redhead deep into the outfield. Fuzz gets the ball back to the pitcher. The bases are loaded as Gilbert comes up to bat. The redhead throws, the ball clears the plate right at knee level.

“Strike one.” Coach Hardeway calls.

Gil got a little piece of the next pitch, but he fouled it to left field. The very next pitch sailed homeward. Gil connected. The ball popped up and headed toward the chalk fence line behind second base, finally it bounced inches beyond the white line. The score was tied. Danny was up at bat. He got two fouls, then a ball. The red head pitched and Danny sent the ball skyward a few feet over the top of the pitcher’s outstretched glove, then it was out of the park. Tamara hit the first pitch and fouled toward first. Fuzz caught the ball ending the first inning.

The game continued to the 3^rd inning. Fuzz’s team won 18 to 16. All of us were drenched with sweat. The equipment was returned to the bags. Fuzz, Russ and Marty each tugged a bag over their shoulder as the 12 of us, plus Coach Hardeway and Marty’s dad headed to the dining pavilion. We grabbed drinks from the coolers and returned to our table. Three of the ranch’s cook staff wheeled out dollies holding paper plates topped with slabs of cake. The three women passed cake laden serving trays to volunteer students. The volunteers passed out the cakes. We all were sated with cake and carbonated soft drinks.

For a short while we continued to joke and argue amicably about the game. Owen, Russ, Fuzz, the Yantsy twins and I talked of the upcoming few weeks; the impending completion of our studies in Lubek, and our graduation in three weeks followed by a graduation weekend at the Owen family camp-house. Finally Owen glanced over to me wiggling his eyebrows at me, before he pointed his head towards the parking lot. I turned and tapped Russ on the shoulder.

“Owen says its time.” Fuzz was listening and nodded assent. We rose as a group and walked out. I checked the time once I got back to the parking lot. 1:15. Damn, we were supposed to stay there until 2:00, but seeing how I hadn’t seen any teachers with cameras or note taking materials, maybe we could sneak off.

The redhead was standing with Marty. Owen was off to his left, leaning towards the tall guy’s ear. All three of them stared at me. They caught my stare and reddened slightly.

I was staring at the redhead when Marty hollered at me. I heard his voice, but not his words.

“Huh?” I grunted.

Marty gave me that ‘your such an asshole sometimes’ look, and ambled towards me. He took pleasure as he shoulder bumped me.

“You asshole Marty.” I rubbed the injured area and grinned.

“Are you ready T?” Marty looked at me.

“Heck yeah!” I shouted and led the way to my car.

I settled in. Marty opened the door to climb in. He folded himself and stepped in. Seated, his knees were nearly in his face. I stifled a laugh as we headed back home.

I decided I had to know, and looked for a safe place to pull over as we approached town. I found a spot in the Piggly-Wiggly parking lot and pulled in to a stop. “Marty, who was that red headed guy?”

“Prince?” His eyes were crinkled.

“No Marty,” I gave him a sideways glance. “The really tall guy you were talking with in the parking lot.”

Marty turned his head forward and rode in silence. We were halfway home when he spoke:

“Don’t hate me T,” he said, eyes turned to stare at the knuckle of a thumb.

“He’s my best friend. You remember him T… from all the sleepovers. That’s Cole.”

“Shit!” I spat.

.     .     .

He’d been one of my very best friends from fifth until seventh grade, from when I was eight until I was barely ten years old. He Owen and Russ had saved my butt more times than I care to remember.

One morning near Easter during my 7^th grade year, the SOB with little warning pulls back and punches me right in the nose. I was headed to the toilet at first break. I reached for the door when it was thrown open into my face. The jerk stood there, bawling like only a 6 foot tall almost thirteen-year-old baby could as he shouts something I could not comprehend. Cole, my best friend for over 2 years drew back and

“CRACK!”

I remember he pushed past the boy behind me. I lay flat on my back, blood gushing, me not breathing. I watched his retreating form stop a good way down the hall. Cole did an about-face. He raced back chanting something. He knelt beside my head. he turned my face toward his. His fingers brushed my cheek, still muttering those two words over and over. His face came very close to min. He touched my face once more. I remember someone turning my head to one side to allow the blood to pool on the floor. I recall my vision clouding before I lost consciousness. As I passed out I was unaware I would not see Cole again for more than five years.

Once I regained consciousness I became aware I lay on a gurney in the back of an ambulance accompanied by the EMS attendant Miss Doris Kane the school secretary and Owen's grandmother rode with the driver up front. We were bound for the Emergency clinic near my house.

__________________________

Thanks to Louis my editor and to Yettie One my Beta. My writing is made intelligible only with their guidance.

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