Control

By Dwayne Phillips

Short Story 2008-13, 28 March 2008

Darkness, then fuzzy. Fuzzy became dirt and leaves. Bobby was lying face down on the ground. The ground was covered with leaves, and some of the leaves were stuffed in Bobby’s nose and mouth.

Bobby lifted his head a little, just enough to spit out half a mouth full of leaves.

“Blagh,” is all Bobby could say. “What happened? Oh God, this hurts.”

Bobby’s neck hurt, his head hurt. He closed his eyes in pain and strained to touch his forehead with his right hand. Tough, thick, scratchy leather touched his dirty forehead. He was wearing a heaving leather work glove.

There was a large lump on his forehead. A little blood come off his head onto his glove.

What is this? Blood. What? Oh yea. I’m working in the woods. I have work gloves on. What happened to me?

Bobby tried to raise himself up into a crawling position. He pushed his chest off the ground a few inches. That was harder than it was supposed to be. His arms were weak, and that puzzled Bobby. He tried to pull his legs forward so that his knees would be under him. That worked, sort of. His right leg worked a little as his right knee came forward a few inches.

His left leg didn’t cooperate. Bobby tried to pull up his left leg again with the same result; it didn’t move. Bobby used his body to try to pull his left leg forward.

“Ah!” exclaimed Bobby. He screamed two or three times, and his voice echoed through the woods.

Something was biting his left leg, but Bobby couldn’t see it. He tried to twist and turn his neck to look back over his shoulder, but that didn’t work. His neck was stiff and aching.

Bobby slumped back down prone on the leaf-covered ground.

I have to see what is biting my leg. I have to move somehow to see it.

Bobby pulled his left arm under his body and pushed off with his right. His body twisted and contorted until he found himself on his back. Streaks of sun cut through the tree cover and blinded Bobby. He lay still for a moment regaining his vision and his breath. Bobby pulled his elbows up towards his shoulders and tried to raise his shoulder off the ground. He managed a few inches of lift and strained to press his chin against his chest so he could peer down his body towards his leg.

Rusty barbed wire wrapped around his leg. The barbs had torn his faded Wrangler jeans and cut into skin. The barbs were the bites Bobby felt. Bobby pulled his leg a couple of times hoping it would move, but it didn’t. Something was holding him fast. Bobby closed his eyes, squinted, and opened them again. His eyes followed the wire from just above his ankle off to his left. The far end of the barbed wire went into a pine tree and wouldn’t pull loose.

Bobby closed his eyes and breathed slowly a few times.

God this hurts. What happened? What time is it?

Bobby half rolled onto his right side taking care to keep his left leg still and on the ground. That freed his left hand, and he pulled it up to his face to look at his watch.

No watch? Where is it? I always wear my watch.

Bobby gazed up towards the sun peaking through the cover of the pine and oak trees.

Is it morning? Is it afternoon? The sun isn't directly overhead, so it is one or the other. Which direction is which? What happened to me?

* * * * * * *

“This is where I want you to start,” barked Mr. Earl Hayden, Sr. “This area here. I want the cows to be able to wander through here, get out of the sun, not sweat off so many pounds this summer. But I can't have them tearing themselves up on all this old fence. Bobby? Where are you?”

“Here Mr. Hayden. Right here,” puffed Bobby as he struggled to catch up with Mr. Hayden.

Bobby was lugging an axe, a large pair of wire cutters, a couple pair of pliers, work gloves, and a small Coleman cooler. The load wasn't heavy, but it was awkward to carry through the thick underbrush.

“You see this stretch of old barbed wire fence?” said Mr. Hayden in more of a statement than a question.

Mr. Hayden swung his arm through an arch pointing to about 100 feet of three strands of rusted and twisted barbed wire. Most of the wooden posts had rotted at the ground and were suspended a few inches in the air. Here and there the barbed wire had been consumed by growing trees.

“We put this fence in here some 40 years ago, my daddy and me and my brothers,” recounted Mr. Hayden. “We pulled it too close to some of the trees, so when they grew they grew around the wire. Funny how that happens. I guess it shows that the trees own the woods, not the fence, not the farmer.”

“Huh, yea,” said Bobby.

Whatever you say old man. Trees. Woods, Whatever.

“Watch here. This is what I want you to do Bobby,” said Mr. Hayden.

The man took the large wire cutters from the boy and stepped over to a tree that had swallowed the three strands of wire. He placed the business-end of the wire cutters on the wire as close to the tree as possible. The wire cutters were almost as rusted as the barbed wire, but with some twisting, turning, pinching, and pulling the wire tore loose.

“That's it, you see?” stated Mr. Hayden.

Hayden repeated the tearing on the second of three strands of wire, dropped the wire cutters in the dirt, and gently wrestled the strands of wire towards the next tree.

No wonder the cutters are so rusty, throwing them in the dirt like that.

“So there you go,” said Hayden. “Move from tree to tree and cut the wire loose. When you have a good section cut loose, use one of these old posts and try to roll up the wire and haul it over near the road. Earl J and Tony will pick you up about Five and you three haul all the old fence to the dump area. Got it?”

“Yes sir Mr. Hayden,” answered Bobby.

How could I not get it? What is simpler than this?

“All right, you got your lunch and water, cell phone?”

“Yes sir, all in the cooler.” said Bobby.

“Good. Pace yourself, break for water and lunch and such. You ought to be able to get all this cleared out of here today,” charged Mr. Hayden.

“Yes sir. Yes sir I'll get it all done Mr. Hayden.”

So will you just go and leave me to start. I can't finish until I start you know.

Mr. Hayden finally left. He walked the hundred paces back to his pickup truck on the gravel road at the edge of the patch of woods. Bobby sighed when he heard the pickup's tires slip a bit on the loose gravel and the engine noise faded down the road.

Bobby picked up the large, rusted wire cutters and stepped up to the tree that Mr. Hayden had demonstrated the job. The cutters behaved as poorly as they looked. Bobby pinched the wire, pulled on it, and opened and closed the cutters. He stepped back to catch his breath and attacked the wire again. He must have weakened the wire from strain more than from cutting because this time he closed the cutters on the wire and the wire snapped immediately. It popped as if a spring and flew away from the tree in the direction of the next tree. Bobby jumped back in surprise, but not quite quickly enough. The wire scratched the back of the glove on his left hand and skimmed across Bobby's watch.

Whoa! What is this? How did that happen?

Bobby forgot everything else and studied his watch. The cuff of his glove had protected the face of the watch – no scratches.

That is no good. I'm not going to ruin my watch on this crummy job.

Bobby pulled off his gloves and removed his watch. He walked over to the personal-size Coleman cooler and set his watch inside it. He pulled his water bottle and took a couple of sips of ice cold water. Before placing the bottle back in the cooler, Bobby picked up his cell phone from atop his sandwiches.

Good. Plenty of bars. I'll get this job done quick, call for Earl J and Tony, and get out of here before Two or Three.

Bobby put these items back into the cooler, pushed the lid down tight, and moved the cooler 10 paces away so that it wouldn't be hit by any flying rusting wire. It wouldn't do to scratch his mom's cooler. He didn't need that kind of trouble this evening.

The next hour passed slowly – it always did on a boring job, and this was a boring job. The rusted wire cutters were less effective at each tree. Bobby almost set them aside to attack the wire with a pair of pliers and the axe, but decided to give the cutters one more try.

He wrestled the top strand of wire loose easily as it was almost rusted through. The second strand was much tougher. Bobby stepped back and took several deep breathes.

All right you sucker. I'll get you.

Bobby straddled the second strand as it was about thigh height on him. He grabbed the wire with the cutters as close to the tree as he could get and started to pull. Twist. Pull. Squeeze. Twist. Pull.

Bobby pulled as hard as he could. He didn't need to as the wire was all but severed. The pull became a jerk as the wire broke. The large wire cutters came with Bobby's pull. He could see the cutters coming towards his face. Bobby ducked and darkness followed.

* * * * * * *

Darkness again, then light, sun light flickering through the tree cover as the trees moved slightly and gently with a breeze.

I guess I fell asleep. I must have been working pretty hard and got tired. I'll just get up and start working again.

“Ouch!” screamed Bobby.

His predicament came back to him in a flash of pain. He had not stopped working and taken a nap. He was lying injured in the dirt, pine needles, and leaves. His left leg was wrapped in barbed wire, and he was tethered to a nearby tree.

He twisted again so that he once again was lying flat on his back. His left hand felt something cool and wet. He pulled his hand up to where he could see it – a mush of dirt, leaves, and blood. He had been bleeding enough to make a small pool of blood on the ground.

How much can you bleed before you're messed up? How much have I bled?

Bobby pushed himself up onto his elbows again so he could see his leg and his surroundings. He tried to pull himself away from the tree that held the other end of his barbed wire tether.

That doesn't work, stupid. Stop trying it.

Bobby's arms and shoulders ached from holding his head up so that he could see. He couldn't pull away from the tree, but he could push towards it. Pushing his body towards his injured leg hurt as much as trying to pull away.

He could, however, pivot his body around his left leg. That hurt, but it was bearable. He pushed with his elbows and lifted his buttocks off the ground a tiny amount. He then pushed to his left and lowered himself back to the ground to rest. That strain moved his body to the left a couple of inches, but drained him. He rested for a moment.

Bobby repeated this process many times. It was exhausting, it hurt, but it worked. After a while Bobby had moved himself so that his back rested against a pine tree. He was sitting upright.

This is much better. I can see, and people can see me sitting here. This will do it. Someone will spot me here and come get me.

Bobby pulled his glove from his right hand and rubbed his hand on his forehead. The lump was still there where the large, rusty wire cutters had popped him. He was wet with perspiration and pulled some of that into his mouth. It was salty and gritty with dirt, but it was wet.

Where's my water? Where's my lunch?

Bobby turned his head from side to side until he spotted the Coleman cooler off to his right. It was only a short walk away, but hopelessly out of reach. Bobby thought about wiggling towards it, but estimated that his barbed wire leash was much too short.

My water. My lunch. Oh they would taste so good. My cell phone is with them. I had plenty of bars on it, too.

Darkness, then light again.

Bobby's body convulsed himself back into consciousness.

What time is it? How long was I asleep. Just a nap, just a couple of minutes. I don't know.

Sunlight had stopped streaking through the tree cover. Above the trees, out of Bobby's sight, the sky had grayed with clouds.

Where is the sun? Is it evening? Earl J and Tony should be here any minute now. They can cut me lose and take me home. Mom will know what to do. She'll patch me up and I can sit in the tub and soak in warm water. That will feel good.

Bobby lifted his hands to his face to rub the sleep from his eyes. His hands weren't working right. They shook. Bobby clenched his left hand inside his right and held it tight. They shaking lessoned, but didn't stop. His arms were weak.

Maybe sitting up against this tree wasn't a good idea. Maybe I should lie down. I don't want to lie down in the dirt. I want to get this stupid wire off my leg. I want to go home. Mom said we were having fried chicken for dinner tonight. I want some fried chicken, ice tea, a warm bath. I want to go home.

Bobby tried to concentrate. He focused on the tree that held the barbed wire that wrapped his leg. He followed the wire with his eyes and counted each barb on the wire. It had 27 barbs, or was it 17 barbs. Maybe he had dropped a ten somewhere.

He looked up at the gray sky through the tree cover.

Where is the sun? How low is it? How close to evening am I? Is it still morning? Just stay awake.

One thought kept Bobby alert. Mr. Hayden had told him, “Earl J and Tony will pick you up about Five.”

Okay, Five O'Clock. Just stay with it until Five. Then I can go home. Just stay with it until Five.

* * * * * * *

“Tony!” shouted Earl J in a whisper. “Check it out.”

Earl Hayden Jr., known as Earl J instead of Earl Jr., was nudging Tony Guzzardo with his right elbow and directing his attention with a nod of his head and twitching of his eyebrows. The two sat sweating in the summer heat in the cab of a second-hand pickup truck parked at the Tiger Drive-In. They both held large, greasy hamburgers in one hand and condensation dripping cans of root beer in the other.

Their attention left their food and fixated on the one thing that will take an 18-year-old male's gaze from food – 18-year-old females.

“Look,” continued Earl J, “it's Lisa and Marilyn.”

“Yeah, be cool. I can see them,” answered Tony. “Damn, I love cut off jeans.”

Lisa Spitoli and Marilyn Kinchen were wearing cut off jeans, at least half wearing them. The jeans weren't snapped and only half zipped, revealing bright red bikini bottoms beneath. They both wore loose fitting white t-shirts emblazoned with red letters “Tiger Cheerleaders” and a tiger's head in red and black. Their t-shirts tugged at their skin enough to show the outline of bikini tops  underneath – most likely bright red bikini tops in keeping with the school colors.

The girls hopped out of a new Ford sedan and ran into the Tiger Drive-In followed closely by the eyes of Earl J and Tony. After they disappeared  through the door, Tony blinked a glanced at the Ford.

“Earl J,” started Tony. “Look. They've got a cooler and some folding chairs in the back of the car. You know what this means man.”

“Yeah,” answered Earl J. “I got it. They're going to that little sand bar on the river. Just the two of them.”

“Damn!” exclaimed Tony. “What I wouldn't give to go with them. We could hook up with them man. This would be fine. Too bad we have to go help Bobby pull out that fence from the woods. This would be fine.”

“This will be fine,” said Earl J.

“What?” asked Tony turning towards his friend with a puzzled look on his face.

The puzzled look turned to fear. “You aren't thinking of...”

“Yes I am,” finished Earl J. “Forget that loser Bobby. Tony, we are not passing up an afternoon in the water with these fine young ladies. We hook up with them now and they will be ours our whole senior year. This is our chance man.”

“But when your dad finds out...”

“He won't find out,” interrupted Earl J.

“Bobby will figure it out. Even a sophomore like him will get it when we don't pick him up. He'll walk home, it's only a mile or two. We'll catch up with that dweeb in the morning before my dad sees him. We'll make sure that he has the right story.”

Earl J tapped the horn of the pickup as Lisa and Marilyn giggled their way back out into the parking lot carrying a bag of cold drinks.

“Ladies,” shouted Earl J as he stuck his head out of the window of the pickup. “What are you doing today?”

On cue, Marilyn Kinchen walked around to Earl J's side of the truck while Lisa Spitoli went to Tony's side.

Marilyn reclined against the over-sized rear-view mirror on Earl J's side, leaned towards him, smiled, and simply said, “Nothing.”

* * * * * * *

Darkness, then gray.

“Whoa!” mumbled Bobby.

What was that? Another nap? How long? What time is it? When will Early J and Tony be along?

Bobby had drifted off and back again several times. Each period of consciousness was shorter than the previous one. His black outs where longer and deeper. He dreamed.

---Junior High basketball. Coach Cooper finally decided to put him in the game and give him the ball. The game was effortless. He ran up and down the court. When he wanted the ball, he had it. Someone would pass it to him, he would take it from an opposing player, or he would grab a rebound. Once in his possession, he dribbled the length of the court. People chased him in vain. It was funny to pull away from everyone and go to the basket.

He dunked every time. He jumped as usual, but he kept rising until his hand was a foot above the rim. He pushed the ball down into the net. The crowd cheered a little, but grew bored with Bobby's accomplishments. That was fine. Playing the game this way was pure joy. Everything was under his control. Decide what to do and do it. Pure joy, total control.

---Sitting under a large live oak tree with Marilyn Kinchen. They stared up at the leaves waving in the breeze. The only sound was of their voices. A little talk, a few laughs, and lots of smiles.

They climbed the tree. It was a classic live oak, and they walked up a limb that hung low to the ground. Bobby's balance was flawless, her balance was not, but that was fine. Bobby was in complete control. When she touched his hand, his balance flowed through her body. It didn't matter how awkward she was. It didn't matter how off balance she leaned. She merely touched Bobby's hand and her body stayed with his on the limbs of the tree.

They walked the length of the limb to the oak's trunk. Bobby pushed Marilyn up to the next limb and then hopped up to it by himself. It was like in basketball; he pushed off as usual but kept flying upward until he reached the desired height.

Once on the next higher limb, the walked along it as before. Bobby's balance was good enough for the both of them.

They continued this up to the upper reaches of the oak. They sat lightly on the top branches so that their heads were above the leaves. They sat, talked, and looked over the surrounding countryside. Blue above; green below; joy in their hearts.

Marilyn slipped and began falling down into the depths of the tree below. She was out of his reach – out of his control.

“Hey! Stop!” yelled Bobby as he lurched back into consciousness. He caught himself from falling over and pushed his body back into an upright position leaning against the tree.

What was that?

Bobby placed his right hand on his forehead. The lump was still there. His hand still shook, worse than before. What was missing was perspiration. Bobby's shirt was wet with it, but his face was dry.

I think I stopped sweating. I think that is a bad thing to run out of water and stop sweating. I wish I could have a drink of water. I want to go home.

Darkness and more dreams

--Walking in the hall at school. Bobby didn't know what time it was. Everyone else in the halls knew what they were doing. They each had a purpose, a start, an end.

Bobby looked longingly at them as they passed him. He wanted to talk to them; he wanted to learn what they were doing, and what he was supposed to be doing. He opened his mouth and tried to make air cross his vocal chords and form words. Nothing came out.

Bobby put his hands to his throat and pressed his chin down on them as hard as he could. He tried to squeeze out a sound, but nothing happened.

A firm hand grabbed his shoulder and was followed quickly by a shout, “What are you doing here?”

It was Mr. Zino, the vice principle. Mr. Zino repeated the question, “What are you doing here? Where are you going? What are you doing?”

Bobby looked at the massive hand of Mr. Zino on his shoulder and turned his neck to face him. He was looking into Mr. Zino's black beard.

“Classes started half an hour ago. Today is final exams for all classes. What are you doing here? Are you out of control? Do you know what time it is?”

“No! What time is it?” yelled Bobby as his head popped up off his chest and hit the tree behind him.

Bobby forced his eyes wide open, as far open as he could. He no longer thought to himself. Instead, he screamed at the woods. “No! I don't know what time it is! What time is it? Somebody tell me what time it is! Somebody get me out of here. I want to go home. Somebody get me home!”

Darkness, then more darkness.

Bobby shook his head and put both hands to his face. He rubbed his eyes and tapped the side of his head with the palm of his hand. The insides of his head swam around in pain.

“Come on. Come on, let's go,” pleaded Bobby, but the darkness didn't go away.

Bobby squinted and looked around him. He was still in the woods, but now it was dark. Bobby's left leg didn't hurt. His right leg hurt; his hips hurt, so did his back. Bobby's head throbbed with each beat of his heart.

Bobby lectured to the woods, “It doesn't get dark before Five PM. Not here, not in the summer.”

“Earl J. Tony. Come out now. Time is up. I give up. I can't find you. No more hide and seek. It isn't fair with me tied down like this.”

Bobby sat quiet for a moment. His eyes gradually adjusted to the dark so that he could see his bloody leg and the single strand of barbed wire going off to the tree. He guessed it still went to the tree as he couldn't see that far any longer. It was too dark.

“Come on guys. Aren't you coming to get me? Please come to get me. Please take me home. I just want to go home. I won't tell anybody that you didn't come on time. Please, just take me home.”

Darkness, a long and deep darkness.

* * * * * * *

Light, a bright light.

The light hurt Bobby's eyes. That was the only thing that hurt. He couldn't feel anything  in the rest of his body. He kept his eyes closed, but the bright light still poured in.

Bobby spoke slowly and quietly, “I just want to go home. Can I go home now?”

There was silence for a long while, then a voice, a strong, controlled voice, “You will be home soon. You need to wait here a while.”

* * * * * * *

Light, a bright light.

This time the light didn't hurt Bobby's eyes. Maybe it did, but he didn't notice his eyes as the rest of his body hurt. His left leg pulsed with pain. The lump on his forehead did the same.

A voice, “Bobby. Bobby Maxwell. Can you hear me Bobby Maxwell?”

“Yeah. Yeah sure, I can hear you,” answered Bobby.

“You frightened us, young man. You were out of control for a while. High fever and such.”

“What?” asked Bobby. “What time is it? Is it Five yet? Did they come get me? Did they take me home? Earl J and Tony?”

“No,” answered the voice. “You are not at home yet. You are in the hospital. Someone brought you here last night, some Good Samaritan.”

Bobby slowly opened his eyes. He was lying in a been covered with white sheets. He was talking to a man. Maybe the man was a doctor or something.

“What's a Good...what's a good...good whatever you said.”

“Good Samaritan,” finished the man. “That's what we call people who drop off folks like you at the emergency room entrance and then speed away without talking to anyone. Those cases usually involve gun shot or knife wounds, the kind people don't want to answer any question about.”

“We've never had someone dropped off with a leg wrapped in barbed wire in the middle of the night.”

The man walked from the foot of the bed over to Bobby's side. He pulled the lid of Bobby's right eye up, showed a small light into Bobby's eye, and came close to stare into Bobby's head. He let go of Bobby's eye, walked back to the foot of the bed, and wrote something on a piece of paper attached to a clipboard.

“My guess,” continued the man, “was that someone was poaching, spotlighting deer in the middle of the summer. They stumbled across you and brought you here.”

Bobby jerked in the bed and began talking hurriedly, “Mr. Hayden. I need to see Mr. Hayden. I was working on the fence like he told me. I was trying hard. I hit my head and I don't know what happened, but I couldn't get loose and couldn't finish and...”

“Bobby,” interrupted the man. “That is enough of all that for now. Your mother will be here soon. You'll go home in a day or so.”

“Everything is under control now.”

With that, Bobby smiled and slept.

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