Free Sketcher by Roland Watson-Grant Page A

from cookin’ and waitin’ tables, she would help us with our homework by herself. And then before dinner we’d light a small fire outside behind the house and put some wild bushes on it to help chase the mosquitoes and the gnats away, cos especially when it rained and you heard those sad ol’ cypress trees weepin’ into the water, you knew the bugs were comin’ out to feed. You heard them coming. Then after dark the crickets took over and worked the night shift – thousands of them chirpin’ all night to the beat of one raindrop at a time, sliding off a leaf into the swamp water or drumming into one of Moms’ cookin’ pots through the tin roof. That’s how you’d pass time when it rained: counting drops and cursin’ crickets. Then all you needed was Pa Campbell wailin’ the blues on his harmonica for you to feel like you could lay down in the bayou and blow bubbles like a bullfrog just so you couldn’t hear all that sadness. But when it was dry, we’d all sit on this makeshift bench at the back of the houseand watch the sunset. Calvin would be close by, scratchin’ himself or runnin’ from his kids, and I’d look at the edges of the sky change from blue to blush and listen to the critters and wonder why God spent so much time decoratin’ a day that was dyin’.
    One time Moms said that the clouds were lemon custard with the edges toasted golden and the westbound birds were like sprinkles, and those frogs going glug-glug-glug were prob’ly singin’ their li’le ones to sleep. So I thought, “Wow, that’s really nice.” Then right after that, Pops came home smack in the middle of the crème-brulée clouds and the lullaby singin’. He’d been away for two nights and smelt different and sounded tipsy. There was a big peace sign painted on his face, and he had these fancy new clothes on. And I just went right back to thinking that God was wastin’ his time decoratin’ a day that was just about dead.
    Now, usually we all went to Long Lake Free Gospel Church on the weekend, but one sleepy Sunday mornin’ Moms got up and after breakfast she told me she wanted me to go with Pa Campbell into Gentilly on a mission for her. I wasn’t too keen on the idea till she said I was goin’ to do it “like a ninja”. We didn’t have no television at our house, so at the time I had no idea what a real ninja looked like, but I heard Harry T talkin’ about ninja shows all the time. That boy watched a hell of a lot of TV, and I think it must have messed with his brain a little bit. He believed some impossible things just because they came over the tube, I tell ya.
    Harry lived over in the city, but that boy loved diggin’ for adventure, especially in the swamp, so I wouldn’t even call him a real city boy. He’d hitch a ride on his bicycle in someone’s truck all the way to where the asphalt disappeared and the dirt road began. Then he’d ride the rest of the way into the swamp and drop by just in time for some food and then haul his ass back home to sit in front of his damn TV set till he fell asleep.
    Now, me and Harry, during the summer, we used to plan missions just to mess with angler fishermen or daring tourists who believed in brochures and prob’ly thought they had found some place “untouched by human beings”. So we’d see them all peaceful, in their little fishin’ boat out on the bayou, and we’d just ride up suddenly and look all queasy and tell them to get out of our toilet.
    So when Moms said “ninja mission” and my brothers didn’t sound interested in going with me, I decided the best person to tell was Harry T, cos sure as the sun he’d be comin’ into the swamp early that Sunday.
    Well, would you believe it, when Harry turned up at our place, I couldn’t recognize the guy. He had bought some kind of Jheri-curl kit