Free Ghosts of Tom Joad by Peter Van Buren Page A

sounds far off on the highway. The current was light and theriver half dry in summer, so we figured loading the four of us into a boat made for two wouldn’t be a problem. Then we met Pam, this girl Tim sort of liked and Tim made us take her along too. Pam had been the third girl in our grade to start wearing a bra, and Tim had it on good authority she had lost her virginity already and was willing to lose it some more. She had a Farrah ’do. We all had that poster on our walls, if not on our minds, that summer, so that was important.
    Things started out okay, as okay as four drunk teenage boys with a boat and beer sniffing after one nervous teenage girl can be. Our enthusiasm was fuel. We got the boat into the water and climbed in well enough. Muley had the idea of tying a rope through the plastic rings on the six packs of Genesee so we could tow them along behind us and they’d stay cold. Tim devoted himself to bossing us around to make himself look like a big guy, and Pam devoted herself to worrying about five people in a boat that might safely hold two.
    Pam was right like girls then usually were about those kind of things. The boat drifted along with the current, ending up in the center of the river two beers later. We could see a few lights reflecting off the water, and it was kinda pretty. I guess that is what inspired Tim to try and put his arm around Pam, who was less inspired by the romantic scene and shrugged him off a bit too hard. The boat rocked and water came over the shallow sides. I was laughing, and so was Muley, who started rocking the boat even more, when the whole thing flipped over. The five of us were dumped into the river. It wasn’t too deep; I couldn’t touch the bottom, but it was easy enough to doggy paddle over to the far bank. I wasn’t even breathing too hard, and lookedover, laughing, at Tim, Rich and a really unhappy Pam. Her Farrah ’do was ruined. The boat was gone.
    â€œWhere’s Muley?”
    â€œI don’t know, maybe over there?”
    No Muley.
    Tim and Pam went off looking for him down the river bank, thinking maybe he swam off that way. Rich heard him first—Muley, in the water, shouting for us. I figured he was kidding around like always, pretending to drown in eight feet of warm water, when I saw Rich dive back in. I went in right after him, and we reached Muley in a few wet splashes. Rich grabbed him first, and we pulled him over to the bank. He was crying, snot all down his face, white as Wonder Bread. He had been wearing his heavy work boots, lace-ups, and they had filled with water, pulling him under. Muley was a strong kid back then, and was able to claw his way up to the surface and shout, but if Rich had not gone in after him, he’d a’ drowned that night in the river while we watched.
    It was either Muley’s earlier laughing or Muley’s recent shouting that brought out the cops. Someone must have heard it all and called them. The one fat cop came up to me and said, “Son, how many kids were in that boat?” And I said, truthfully, “Sir, there were five of us.” Me, Muley and Rich were right there. Tim and Pam hadn’t come back, likely seeing the cop car lights and running. Five of us, just like I said.
    â€œDon’t worry son, we’ll find your friends.” The cop put me in the back of his car with a blanket and waded into the river. Three other cops pulled up and went right in, too, and right after that the fire truck came with the siren going and all those menwaded into the river. Flashlights were swinging criss-cross over the water and the cops would yell for a bit, then tell each other to “Be quiet and just listen for a minute goddammit, there’s two kids out there somewhere. There was five of ’em in that boat when it flipped, and we only got three on the bank! We ain’t gonna let them other two missing die for no reason—”
    I figured out the reason. The next