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The Test |
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by Bob Liddil
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Life in the top bunk is sweet until the bugle blows. Sleeping is great. Being awake is supposed to be better, but it isn’t. Today is the day I face the test. I am the only one who has failed and I feel that failure every time I open my eyes, and then squeeze them tightly again, hoping the shame will somehow disappear. The bugle blows a second time. We have to go. The hot summer sand scorches my feet. I wince a little and limp a couple of times. Chief Billy catches me out of the corner of his eye and says, “Get back and get shoes on. You trying to get us points lost or what?” Minutes later I catch up. We are all fidgeting. It’s not anybody’s favorite time of day. The sun and the sand are hot and we are all hungry. But we conform because we must. This is inspection and a chance for points lost if we fidget too much. The bugle blows. “I pledge allegiance…” I move through the words like a ghost through a wall. “… liberty and justice for all,” we conclude in three-part unison, men, adolescents and boys, a pine woods patriotic choir singing praise to the nation. The bugle blows. We break like a buffalo herd spotting hunters, and stampede for the mess hall in a tumult of dust and joyous screaming. We race against each other with unbridled passion, the bigger leaving the smaller far behind. On arrival, we form lines according to tribe to await admittance to the great hall of breakfast. The top bunk is my after breakfast secret hideaway. I can turn my face toward the wall and escape the others in my tribe. I read for the hundredth time, “Buddy was here,” one of a dozen exhortations from the past carved or written in the aging wood. I am anonymous, invisible, until Chief Billy says, “Make that bed and get your trunks on. Swim time, and you have that test to take.” I can’t believe an hour went by that fast. The bugle blows and catches me naked, looking for my trunks. Chief Billy pops a towel in my direction and growls “Get a move on.” The screen door bangs as the last kid exits and I am alone. Where ARE those trunks? The second bugle catches me a hundred feet from the bullring, the gathering place where we meet to break off into classes or to go down to the lake for swimming. I can’t be last. There are points to be lost. I turn my hard run into a mad dash, just ahead of Joey Spivey, one of the smallest of the Apache in Cabin one. It’s not a giant victory, but I am not last. No points lost. We spent fifteen minutes on the Bible verse of the day. It’s YMCA summer camp, so God and Jesus are a part of every bullring meeting. Comes my time to rise and speak, I recite flawlessly, “For God so loved the world…” Points won. Uncle Jack, the camp director, gives us a pep talk about winning and playing the game. We split into three groups, Archery, crafts and swimming lessons. I am in the latter group. The bugle blows. I lag behind the group, catching the attention of Chief Roger, who says to me, “Keep up, and smile. It’s not the end of the world.” It isn’t? The distance between the dock on which I stand and the one I must reach is one hundred feet. The water is twenty feet deep under my feet. The wind is blowing just enough to rustle the leaves on the trees below the earth dam to my right and the sun beats down on me like the devil’s stare as I wait my turn for the test. I don’t have to wait long. My time is now. Three days in a row I dove into the lake from this dock and swam as hard as I could for the safety of the ladder on the other dock. Three days in a row, the lifeguard has had to come and get me. “Don’t get me wet, boy.” Chief Roger grouses, and the other chiefs laugh, as do the kids in line behind me. Chief Billy says, “Might as well take off your shirt Roger.” That gets another laugh. Toes together, arms pointed out, knees bent, get ready, get ready, lean forward, and spring outward. I have done this a million times back in town in the YMCA pool. This is the easy part. I feel that instant of weightlessness, followed by the impact of hitting the water. I can see the surface. I feel my swim trunks slide down my legs and over my feet, gone, just like that, but swim is what I need to do right now, and swim is what I do. I break the surface and grab a breath, put my head down and stroke through the water just as I have been taught. I kick my feet in tight little splashes, raise my head for another breath and then dig in again. Nothing is going to stop me this time. I will pass this test or drown trying. There is no resistance between the water and me. I am flying. I am a fish. Every breath I grab puts me closer to the dock and the ladder to the freedom of being designated a “swimmer.” Suddenly, I am there. I climb the ladder in triumph. I have done it! I have passed the test. I jump up and down and scream with joy. “Yes! Yes!” I scream. “I did it!” Something heavy hits me in the chest in the midst of my celebration. It’s a towel. Chief Billy growls “Get some clothes on, kid.” He is grinning with pride though. “You running around naked will lose us points.” I wrap the towel around me and grin back The bugle blows. |
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Copyright 2010 by Bob Liddil All Rights Reserved |
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