Thin Ice

Whompf! Splat, Marcellus took a massive snowball to the face.

"What are YOU doing here, Mar-ceeel-luss?"

He looked at Jon Price and shrugged his massive shoulders as he wiped the wet snow from his face. They both knew Jon wasn't talking about Sherman's Hill; he was talking about Clyburn. Marcellus was born in Minneapolis, so he didn't belong here. If his parents hadn’t both contacted Covid and died last year, he wouldn't be here at all. But this is where the social worker sent him when she could not find a relative willing to take him in. He didn't hold it against his relatives; they all had large families to supply, and one more mouth would have been way too much for them.

At 15, he towered over most of the kids here. His dark skin, chocolate brown eyes, and kinky curly hair made him stand out even more. He didn't look like he belonged in this white hick town. He sure didn't feel very welcome, that was for sure.

He wouldn't be here on Sherman's Hill, except his foster mother, Susan, insisted he come. Oh, she meant well. She was just blind to the hidden prejudices of her hometown. The real kicker was it wasn't anything to do with his skin color as to why the kids were so prejudiced; it all had to do with him being the new kid and different than them. Small towns always seemed to look at anyone not from there as a "foreigner," no matter the skin color. He guessed he couldn't blame them much; it's the same principle in most families, just on a smaller scale. It didn't heal the hurt he felt when he thought about how his family just turned their backs on him when he needed them most, but his parents taught him to look at a problem from all angles and not to be bitter about the facts.

Rather than argue with his foster mother about why he shouldn't have to go out on this warm winter day, he went. And that's how he came about spending his Saturday morning watching white kids sledding, building small snow people, and snowball fighting. It sure wasn't his idea of a perfect Saturday morning. He'd have been happier if Jude, his foster dad, would have allowed him to help rebuild the '72 Corvette in the garage. Boy, she sure would be sweet once she was cherried out.

So, there was no need to answer Jon. As a foster kid, the whole town knew what happened to bring him here—a small town grapevine. The local news had even done a story on him. At first, it bothered him, but as with everything in his life, he shrugged it off.

Mama always told him not to cry when life threw lemons at your head. He could hear her now, with her deep southern accent he liked to think of as her secret voice that she only used at home. "Jus ketch tho's Mofo's 'nt yo hand and squeeze that bad Mojo right 'nt to lemon aid. Yo jus' squeeze wit'in all yo might, now." He sure missed his mama. She always made things better, somehow.

He could hear Jon continuing, "Oh, that's right. You don't have a-."

"Where's your niece, Jon? Isn't Saturday mornings your turn to keep an eye on her?"

"She's playing with the littles down by the pond." Jon added hatefully, "Like it's any of your business."

"I'm just saying, shouldn't you be more worried about her than pestering me?" Marcellus knew it was wrong to say as soon as it left his mouth.

"Why you sniveling piece of-!" Jon was cut off by a series of rapid pops that almost sounded like a machine gun going off. All the kids out on the hill that day stopped what they were doing and turned towards the sound, some even dropping to the ground and many screaming.

The pond. The ice on the pond had cracked. The weather had been warming steadily for the last few weeks. It had rapidly growing cracks running out from the middle where a minuscule figure in a bunny snowsuit stood.

"Mattie! Nooo!" Marcellus heard Jon scream from behind him. Marcellus had started moving as soon as the first pops sounded, and he saw one of the littles on the ice chasing a pink ball. As Marcellus neared the pond, he went into a head-first slide. He knew the ice wouldn't hold all his weight in one spot; Marcellus hoped he'd have better luck by spreading it out.

When she heard his scream, Mattie turned towards her uncle and immediately stepped onto a crack that separated under her small frame. Just as Marcellus reached where she was, she crashed through the frozen pond.

"Oh, God, no!" He screamed in his head as he plunged his arms into the frigid water, grasping for the little girl. He felt a little star-shaped hand and tried to grab hold of it. For it to slip right through his grasping fingers.

"No, no, no, no, no, no! Please, God!" It's more of a chant than a prayer at this point. He reached in again. This time, he felt some material and got a good grip.

"Thank you, Jesus! Oh, thank God!" By pure luck, he'd grabbed the top of her hood, the bunny ears no less, and pulled Mattie up head first. She was gasping and sputtering but alive so far.

Marcellus only had a little time, he knew. His arms were already starting to numb from being submerged no longer than they were. Mattie would have even less time; her lips were already turning blue.

The little girl grabbed hold of his neck with a surprisingly firm grip. The ice cracked more when she tried to climb higher in his arms. Her big blue eyes seemed to get bigger as she whimpered.

"Don't let me go. Please don't," Mattie chattered out.

"I won't. I promise," Marcellus assured her. As slowly as he could bear, he edged back on the ice to where it was firmer—pulling little Mattie along with him and out of the hole in the ice.

He was scared to death to move and even more scared not to move. The pond ice was cracking all around. He could hear the other kids making a commotion on the bank but was so focused on his task that he didn't listen to what was being said.

Inch by inch, an eternity seemed to pass. He seriously doubted that they'd make the shore by nightfall. How could such a small pond be so fracking big? He was fighting tears not to scare Mattie any more than she already was. He could hear a soothing murmur and realized it was his self. He had no idea what he was saying, but it helped Mattie to hold tight and not panic.

Just when he thought he could move no more and was about to give up, he felt a tug on his left leg. Something was wrapped around his calf—another pull. Then another, and he and Mattie were skidding across the ice that was still left, straight to the bank.

A huge crowd gathered at the base of Sherman's Hill, at least half the town. Ol' Fred Strodder was holding a rope, which Marcellus noticed was lassoed around his leg at the other end.

The last thing Marcellus remembered before he passed out was the EMTs trying to remove Mattie from his frozen grasp so they could be transported to the emergency. The little girl's words echoed in his head as his eyes closed. "I'm staying with Superman!"

"Just like you, Pops. Just like you," he mumbled to the firefighter, smiling at him from his memories.