The River Styx

 “No way, creeper! Put that camera down!” one of my friends yelled as she vainly tried to cover her body with her slim arms and tiny hands.

The man grinned again and said with a thick country accent, “Pretty girls for my collection.”

“Oh my God,” my other friend said, panic clear in her voice.

“Listen, buddy,” clearly, one of my friends had perfected being fearless. “We are not models on a photo shoot and you are damn sure not our photographer, so put the camera down and go away. NOW.”

The creepy man in the boat chuckled. “Tough talk from a girl in a bikini and an innertube. Where y'all gonna go?” He chuckled again, clicking away on his camera. “You're not going anywhere but home with me.”

He was right. We were alone on this stretch of river. The current was slow, barely pushing us along. We had no way to move faster, and what little paddling we could do with our hands, he could easily match or better. The banks were high, but even if we managed to get to them before the man in a motor-powered boat and climb up, there was nothing around but woods. No houses, no roads for miles. We could run through the woods to get away, but we were barefoot and the bumpkin in the boat was wearing what appeared to be hunting boots, thick and sturdy. It was no contest; he would definitely catch us in the woods.

I saw a sand bar coming up soon, and I could see that the sand only breached the surface on one side of the river, leaving plenty of room for a boat to zoom by on the other side. Damn. Even if we could get to our feet, what help would that be? What could we do besides give him better angle for his pictures?

Then I saw the driftwood washed up on the bank by the sandbar. What was I thinking? SMASH!* I figured that at best, a hit to the head would hurt enough to shock him so that we could get a head start in the woods, bare feet be damned. 

*http://drunkieblogger.blogspot.com/ 

Rolling Down the River

We set off down the steady flowing river, basking in the sunshine, threatening to splash each other with the cold water. We were all tied together in a triangular fashion with the floating cooler in the middle. A waterproof radio sat atop the cooler blasting fun summer music. When Norah Jones' “Come Away with Me”* came on, we all shouted “Boo!” and I changed the station to find a more upbeat song. We drifted down the river, sipping our beers and eventually our loud singing along with the radio turned into soft hums. The lazy flow of the river, the calming effects of the beer, and the sunshine therapy soon sucked away our bubbly energy and we became content to pass the rest of the trip idly.

Suddenly, the radio started to fade, causing a stir amongst our idleness. It popped and whined a bit, then suddenly... Silence. General gripes about having no more tunes rang out among the three of us, but we soon quieted our fussing and settled into light conversations about boys, school, work, and... mostly boys. After a while, though, we drifted back into silence. The sounds of the woods surrounding the river started to hit our ears, but something sounded... wrong.

A loud humming became evident, and we all glanced among ourselves, questioning looks on our faces. A boat. There was a boat somewhere on the river, and it was coming closer. This wasn't unusual; boats frequented the river just as much as tubes. But instead of slowing down just enough to pass politely, this boat was coming to a stop. The man in the boat was unfamiliar to all of us. He pulled the boat close to our tubes and stared at us, his eyes grazing up and down our sun-tanned bodies.

“What is this?” one of my friends asked. “Our own personal version of Heart of Darkness?”

“You didn't even read that,” my other friend replied.

“Guys...” I said, watching as the man in the boat smiled – showing crooked yellow teeth – and pulled out a camera and started taking pictures of us.

* http://seminoles723.blogspot.com/

Lazy River, Mighty River

The river is beautiful. She's an awesome work of God that flows through His handmade ground.  She's endlessly searching for an outlet, a way to release some of the pressure causing her to foam and churn.+

The river is rather small, not too wide.  She's no Mississippi, not even like the St. Johns.  I can throw a football across the river.  I've no arm like Eli*, but I have an arm and I know how to use it.  

Use it throw a football across the river, to throw a fishing line out by her banks, 

to throw a life into her depths - lost, gone forever...

I read something once, a blog that had a simple line that read thus: 

"A place of home yet also a place of fear.*"

That's what my river is like.  I feel so calm, so happy, so much at home whenever I'm around her.

But there are times when she turns a Janus head and you see a different facade, one that is anything but welcoming, anything but peaceful, a face that fills you with fear.

It was a bright, humid day – the blue sky raining sunshine down upon us mere mortals.  My friends and I decided to float down the river; grab our swimsuits, grab some tubes, fill a cooler full of beer, and head down to the landing.

We put in at Johnny Boy's, covered in sun tan lotion and laughing loudly as the first few sips of Bud Light started to hit us. It was going to be a perfect girls' day out, just the three of us... Or so we thought.

*http://cuonoeng4815.blogspot.com 
+http://anessenceintimesconfusion.blogspot.com/