***So far, Miranda Jessup Buckley has been jilted, fired and had a child left in her care.  And that was before noon.

 

Now, she is scrambling to make sense of all she's been dealt.  She speaks her mind and has a sharp tongue which keeps her from having a lot of friends.   She, her neighbor Aaron Earl and Waylon, the kid she's watching, form an unlikely bond.  

 

Aaron has filled Waylon's head with finding old cars from the Prohibition Era at the bottom of Haynes Pond.  Before Miranda can stop them, both dive into the murky water in search of said cars. ***

 

 

 

I've never felt like the smartest person in any group, that is, until now.  Both Aaron and Waylon are walking deeper and deeper out into the muddy creek.  I keep waiting to see a fat old moccasin come cutting through the still water but so far nothing.

 

"Okay, you've had your fun.  Let's go," I call.  If they hear me, neither let on. Instead, they swim toward the overgrown marsh grass that juts out into the center.  I've never been on that side of the pond in the light of day.  A couple of times I ventured over there at night with a boyfriend for some extra privacy.  Thinking about that now I realize how stupid I used to be.

 

"Dammit all," I say to no one because no one is listening to me anyway.  I head to the thicket and try as carefully as I can to weave through it.  There could be a danged black bear in there.  Who knows what is in there.  And I'm pretty sure that I could be mauled to death before either of those nimrods would come to my aid.

 

Even though it felt like a half a mile of hard fought terrain, in reality it was probably eight feet of tangled brush. I step through to the other side.  It's pretty much the same as the side I came from but to my relief I can see Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee swimming around.

 

"Find anything?"

 

Aaron waves at me.  He's a nice guy but there are times (like this one) that he reminds me of a dumb hound dog.  "Geez, you cut through that mess?  I'd bet there would be a thousand and one snakes in there.  You are one tough chick, Miranda."  He paddles over to where Waylon is putting his face under water every couple of minutes and holds up his hand for a high five.

 

"If you haven't found a car yet, come on out and let's go."

 

Waylon draws in a lungful of air and suddenly dips under the surface and disappears.  Several seconds pass and no Waylon.

 

"Aaron,  where is he?"  The little lump that is in my throat starts growing, expanding like a tumor.  I start to think he's caught on something just below the surface.  Air bubbles leaving his young body while clueless Aaron treads water.

 

I'm about to kick my own shoes off and go in after him when he bursts through the surface.

 

"Ok!  That's enough of this shit. Let's go home."

 

"Holy shit,"  Aaron says.  "It's true.  They're down there.  Miranda,  the cars are down there."

 

Waylon holds up a strip of metal.

 

I'm squinting because they're so far out and I can't really make out what it is.  "That could be anything," I say.

 

"Could be, but it aint," Waylon yells.

 

"I can't wait to tell my dad," Aaron says.  "He's not gonna believe it when I tell him we found the cars."

 

Waylon dives back under.   This time he comes back up quicker.  "Got the Ford emblem off.  Almost fell off in my hand."

 

"Figures." Aaron laughs.  "If it was a Chevy, you'd be in for a fight.  Chevys don't fall apart like Fords."

 

I think about that stupid picture that's hanging on the wall behind my couch.  Dougie was a Ford man and apparently, Aaron is a Chevy guy.  It just irritates me to no end that men will stand by a damned car but not by their women.  

 

"Okay, you got your souvenir.   Can we please go now?"

 

Aaron leans close to Waylon, and I know they're talking about something, but I guess they don't want me to know.

 

"Five more minutes," Aaron says.

 

Whatever, I think as I turn to go back through the wild to get to the other side.   I move through a tad quicker on the return trip.  

 

I'm sitting in the driver's seat of Aaron's old truck when they come traipsing up.  Both are covered in muddy water and bits of weeds and leaves are stuck to them.  They look terrible, and I'll let you guess how they smell.

 

"So, boys, what are y'all gonna change into?  Or are you gonna let your fancy new truck get broken in?"

 

"Hmm.  Guess we didn't think this through," Aaron sighs.  Then he snaps his fingers.  "I got it."  He reaches behind the seat where I'm sitting and pulls out a canvas bag.  "Hey, Waylon, where's your backpack?"

 

Waylon goes to the new truck and returns with it.

 

Aaron starts pulling stuff from the canvas bag and handing it to Waylon.  "Put this crap in your bag, then strip down to your skivvies and we can put our wet clothes in this canvas bag."

 

I lift a very large knife that's fastened in a leather sheath.  "You preparing for the zombie apocalypse?  Where'd you get this thing?"  It has to weigh four or five pounds.

 

"My mom gave it to me last Christmas.   Pretty cool, right?"

 

"It's terrifying, Aaron.  Is it a hunting knife?"

 

"I think its a survivalist knife.  At least, my mom said it was."

 

Waylon's eyes light up.  "That's awesome."

 

Before he decides to reach for it, I shove it down into his backpack.  Then grab the odds and ends that Aaron keeps handing me.  I zip it up and lug it around to the passenger side of the truck.  

 

Satisfied that his plan will work, Aaron starts pulling his wet clothes off. "Come on, little man.  Start stripping."

 

Waylon glances around then pointedly stares at me.  I take the hint and turn around.  

 

I hear a truck door close and figure it's safe to turn around.  I am wrong in the assumption.  There stands Aaron clad in a pair of boxers.  He stretches.

 

"You want to grab some lunch before we go home "

 

"You don't think we'll have trouble getting a table?"

 

He frowns for a second then shakes his head.  "It's after one, so I'm thinking the lunch rush is over. "

 

"You don't think a thirty-six year old woman waltzing into a restaurant with a thirteen-year old and a twenty something guy clad only in their wet underpants, that wouldn't raise a few eyebrows?"

 

He blushes.  "We could get it to go," he says .

 

I point him in the direction of his new truck and climb into his old one.

 

I wonder if other people have days like this.  I can't be the only one.

 

Can I?

 

 

 

To be continued ...