The Texas Oasis

Two pre-teen boys walked down the street together looking for adventure. They weren’t troublemakers looking for delinquent activities, rather two curious boys with time on their hands and an open world to explore. They didn’t know it, but this was the last Texas Summer they would spend together. Both of them would end up moving away and losing touch early the following school year, but the memories they shared during these long Summer days would last the rest of their lives.

Most days they could be found sitting together playing Atari games, outside climbing trees, or if it was allowed, playing with the water hose and squirt guns. Today the best friends were out exploring the neighborhood. The July sun overhead imparted baking rays of heat that made the roads look like they were effervescing, but these boys were impervious to the broiling golden orb. Their eyes were set on a shady copse of trees that must have materialized overnight at the corner of a large, empty field.

Jason and I must have passed through the field over a hundred times to make afternoon runs to the little convenience store just beyond the field, but we never paid any attention to anything else.

The store was run by an older man and what appeared to be his son. They could have passed for twins if there wasn’t the marked age difference between the two. Long, wavy, auburn, locks straight out of shampoo commercials adorned their crowns. Both father and son had the same part straight down the middle. The only immediately discernible difference was the expertly trimmed handlebar moustache gracing the younger man’s upper lip.

Jason and I would regularly visit the store for our parents to get staples like milk and bread. On other occasions when we managed to accumulate a few dollars we would peruse the shelves looking for sugary sustenance, and fizzy drinks to grant us the energy to attempt to unseat the champion high-scorer on the arcade games set in the back corner. Suspicious but bemused eyes followed us everywhere we went. With favorite tooth rotting packages in our grubby little hands we paid for our addictions. The cashier would stiffen and give us what he must have thought was an intimidating glare when we brought our treats up for purchase. Then he’d reach a slow hand up, stroke his moustache and ask us, “You boys find everything you needed?”

We always did. With the change passed out in quarters because he knew where we were headed after, we snatched up the silver coins then spent plenty of time fixated on pixelated adventures.

Today though, we had no money begging to be spent, but that didn’t keep us from enjoying the time outside. The little oasis of trees among the golden field beckoned us to come hither, and were helpless to resist. Who knows what kind of trash or treasure could be found lurking in its depths. Maybe there were glass bottles we could smash with rocks, trees that begged to be climbed, or it could be a great place to make a secret hideout, away from icky girls and uptight adults.

When we entered the tiny grove, a new world of opportunity greeted us. The trees and brambles were clumped close enough together that we felt we had our own little sanctuary away from the outside world. Directly in the middle of this oasis was a steep drop into a muddy pond of storm runoff. It was too steep to climb out but the concrete storm tube offered the perfect lookout where we could lord over our little pond like the Dr. Seuss story, Yertle the Turtle. If either of us was unfortunate enough to lose our footing, it would be a remarkably close scene from Return of the Jedi, and the Great Pit of Carkoon. We could imagine a great leviathan lying in wait to swallow one of these sugar-filled boys whole.

Collectively we decided to fish this murky cesspit of runoff because undoubtedly, in our ten year old minds, where there was water there had to be fish.

The only obstacle to this feat of wisdom was the fact that neither of us owned fishing poles. Jason’s father had several, but if anything happened to them, my best friend would be the next cameo on the side of the milk carton. And if you’ve read some of my other stories, you will find out that I don’t exactly have the best track record with fishing poles. The eternal optimism of youth spurned us forward through this minor obstacle. We would just have to create our own using what was available. We were 80’s kids and used to extending our imaginations to overcome challenges. Together we fashioned a reasonable facsimile of a half-assed cane pole. I found a thin, nearly sturdy stick, while Jason procured the essential fishing line and hook. Now we just needed the perfect bait. Again, our parent’s fishing lures were definitely out of the question, besides, neither of us had any idea how to use them. “Live” bait would have to do, but in the middle of the afternoon in the flats of Easter Texas the heat rivaled Death Valley. Earthworms would be hiding out miles below the surface in an effort not to fry up like french fries. I distinctly remember hearing somewhere in my constant travels that grasshoppers and crickets could be used as bait, but out there hoppers grew so big they would probably end up putting us on the hooks. Instead we raided our collective refrigerators. With a few strips of out of date bacon, and a slice of bologna we had everything we needed for an epic fishing trip. We really thought we were going to catch something big in a storm drain. We couldn’t have imagined what actually lurked just below the brown, stagnant surface.

We descended again to our secret honey hole and perched ourselves atop the concrete culvert pipe. Slimy, stretchy, sour smelling bacon was haphazardly pierced through the fishing hook, grandiose hopes of landing giant lunkers cascaded through our imaginations as the line was lowered into the water. After a few tense, excruciating minutes I felt a slow, steady tug on the line. It wasn’t the instant pop of a massive fish attack, but something heavy and lackadaisical. Excitement flashed into a roaring inferno. There was actually life down in that slimy pit. I pulled on the line and was met with instant steely resistance. Whatever I had snagged was heavy and stout. This unseen beast was not unwilling to exit the comfort of its watery home. Adrenaline surged. “I got something,” I yelled.

Jason peered over my shoulder. “What is it?”

Man and best continued the life and death struggle as I stretched my limbs to their zenith, but the watery beast remained hidden. “I don’t know, but it’s big.” I said as I wrestled with the unknown creature from the black culvert. An occasional strong tug threatened to unseat me from my perch over the abyss.

With Jason’s help I managed not to lose my footing and become the main course after the rancid bacon appetizer. The creature below the depths decided that this easy meal was more trouble than it wanted to reckon with and let go. The sudden slack in the line sent Jason and myself stumbling backward. Our eyes flashed with the unbidden fires of adventure. After a brief pause, we hurriedly wrapped more bacon on the hook.

Again something stout heaved on the line. Adrenaline course through me and patience was a distant memory as I tugged back without waiting for the thing to set the hook. In my enhanced state our fantastic, homemade pole broke and took with it hook, line and everything. We didn’t plan for this outcome so we had nothing extra to reset and resume our quest.

Without wasting another second we split up in search of new materials to craft the ultimate ‘lunker-snatcher-catcher’. Jason soon returned with more tackle, and I had tested and retested the latest version of our cane pole. This was Fishing Branch 2.0.200. Complete with a thicker, more solid core, and a knob at the end for extra grab in case the line tried to slip off. Outfitted with new and improved gear, we were ready for round two in the fight against our white whale. After a brief scuffle about taking turns, and how Jason was the one who brought all the actual fishing gear, we agreed this turn was his. He tossed the bait into the water again, but our adversary was a tricky, trepidatious sort. It didn’t latch on immediately, it took a little while. Jason toyed with the bait, trying to make the rotten, fatty flesh appear more tempting and saturated the little pond with the tantalizing aroma of pig belly. The tease must have worked because soon the goliath of the deep latched on once again. The enticing aroma of rancid bacon must have been too tempting to ignore, even if it had a tendency to be ‘spicy’. This time with the upgraded advantage of Fishing Branch 2.0.200 the strength of this invention along with my special tying job we were able to pull this creature up out of the water enough to get a solid look at it. This beast was no fish dangling on the other side of the line, it was a brown, muddy, sludge covered nightmare with a razor sharp looking beak. The mouth gaped and bit on the line as it struggled to go back into the water, it did not want to come out into the hostile air. Strength waning, and maybe just a smidgeon of trepidation, we immediately lowered it back down into the watery domain it called home. Jason’s mind processed the images faster than mine. I still languished in my imagination zone while still conjuring up images of fanged, scaled, monstrosities that made snacks out of little boys like Jason and me.

“It’s a huge turtle!” Jason hooted.

“Oh…yeah,” I said. Although my mind still flashed with fresh images of lurking hellspawn, I could see the resemblance of this earth creature called the turtle.

We had only one last piece of old bacon, and the remainder of the bologna I had pilfered from my house. There was a quick discussion about if we should go get more or not since this seemed to be the turtle’s drug of choice. Almost immediately we threw this idea out, we couldn’t chance someone else hijacking our secret spot.

The last morsel of bacon was lowered into the pit. Again it could not resist the lull of sour flesh and another epic battle ensued. Jason struggled with the weight of the huge snapper. Fishing Branch threatened to give way, but it held against the epic battle. Determination was plastered over Jason’s face; he was going to yank this creature from its muddy domain and introduce it to the outside world with us.

The pit had to have been at least 5 feet deep to the top of the water. If either of us fell in, we could quickly become memories. The only fear that prickled our bellies and kept us from getting into trouble was the inherent fear of angry parents.

Jason’s mighty strength waned. The creature was too entrenched in the depths to be pulled out. Back under the water the leviathan slid, but not without shooting us with a defiant and angry glare. I knew we needed a net to land it, otherwise we were at a standstill. Frantically I looked around for the miraculous net, or a similar replacement. Only a few feet away in the same magical oasis, my wish was granted. And now for my next wish…

A discarded, blue, plastic crate would be perfect to pull this massive turtle out of its hole. The crate was similar to a milk crate, but wider and not as deep. The stars had aligned and brought forth the perfect vessel to extricate this legendary creature from its home.

I voiced the opinion to Jason, and he echoed my sentiment. Again he pulled the giant turtle from his hiding place, and I reached down with my lopsided milk crate, but I soon found out that Fate had a twisted sense of humor. Sometimes Fate could be a massive troll. No matter how I stretched, and no matter how hard Jason pulled up on the turtle, we couldn't drag it up on dry land. I was not able to not reach far enough into the hole to get the crate underneath the massive bulk of the turtle. Not to mention, when it wasn’t pulling on the line, the turtle used it’s powerful limbs to push the crate out of the way.

Looking back now, It’s probably a good thing we couldn’t pull this large, angry, snapping turtle from its home. I had no experience with snapping turtles, and didn’t find out until much later that we could have easily lost a few fingers to this creature. The ten year old brain doesn’t delve deeply into consequences.

After that battle, we knew we were outmaneuvered. It was time to collect our losses and see what else we could get into. There was still plenty of sunlight left in the day and we were not about to squander it.

I hope the turtle isn’t too angry at us now for giving it an emo, goth look with the new piercing we left in its mouth.

Since we weren't able to land that big baddie, I said, “Hey, I have some firecrackers left, wanna go blow up some fire ant mounds?”

“Yeah,” Jason agreed. “There are plenty at my house.”

“Okay.”

Together we went off to infuriate the industrious and pesky fire ants with little explosions, and blow up mounds of dog poop, while hoping we didn’t speckle ourselves with firecracker flecked feces or angy, stinging, flying fire ants.