Troubled Waters by BobA. Troutt
*****
Troubled Waters
A Table for Three
It was a long hot summer in 1963. In the little town of Patterson, Arkansas, Bobby Joe and I sat on the hood of my red and white, two-door 1962 Chevy Impala. I was 18 and Bobby Joe was 19. As we looked back, we realized we had come a long way since the third grade.
Bobby Joe moved here from Missouri to live with his grandmother, who lived down the road from me. I lived with my mother and stepfather. My dad was killed in a car wreck about five years before. Bobby Joe and I were like brothers, the best of friends.
That day we sat parked above the cove, Lover’s Point, where all the teenagers went “parking.” The cove was a special place to everyone around Patterson, young and old. It was where the Mississippi River backwashed inland, causing the water to pool up into one of the best swimming holes. The bluffs above circled around the water. Embedded in the bluffs were giant timbers of pine, oak, and maple. The cove was set deep within the bluffs and on the other side was a sand barge. When the river rose, it filled the cove, and when the water receded the cove lay hollow and barren.
“We’ve come a long way, Bobby Joe,” I said as I scooted up on the hood of the car and leaned back on the windshield.
“That’s right, Jimmy Allen, it seems like a lifetime. A month ago we were in high school. After summer I’ll be going off to college, and you’ll be going to Vietnam. Are you afraid, Jimmy Allen?”
“In ways,” I replied.
“Why don’t you go to Canada?” asked Bobby Joe. “I’ll go with you. We could get us a place up there to live, work, and check out the girls.”
“I thought about it,” I replied. “But it’s not me.”
“Yeah,” said Bobby Joe, “I agree. It’s not you.”
Suddenly we heard a loud noise.
“Bobby Joe, did you fart?” I shouted.
Bobby Joe burst out laughing as he rolled off the fender of the car.
“Good grief,” I cried.
We both laughed as Bobby jumped back up on the hood of the car. Then we wrestled like we always did.
“You remember, Bobby Joe, when we were younger, and we went swimming in the cove and nearly got caught by the police?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he replied. “Things were so simple then. When did it get complicated?”
Suddenly, a strong wind blew and the trees above them waved back and forth.
“It looks like it may blow up some rain, Jimmy,” warned Bobby. “We spent a lot of nights in Grandma’s old cellar because of storms.”
“We sure did,” I replied. “Your grandma was afraid of storms.”
“We use to get up in the middle of the night and run to the cellar. I always hated that musty smell and the smell of coal oil burning,” said Bobby Joe.
“Well, it smelled better than that fart you let a minute ago,” I laughed.
“You know what I’d like to do, Jimmy Allen, that we haven’t done in years?” asked Bobby Joe.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“I’d like to go limb fishing,” he replied.
“Limb fishing? How on earth did you think of that?”
“I don’t know,” he replied. “It would be fun. It always was.”
“I don’t know if I would remember how,” I responded. “It’s been a long time.”
Remember, Jimmy Allen, he explained when we used to line fish. Right before dark we would tie fishing line with bells and bait onto tree limbs that hung out over the creek. We would drop the line into the water, go back to camp for an hour, then go and check the lines. When the fish went after the bait, the line would give which caused the bells to ring. But, we had to be careful when checking the lines because there might not be a fish, but a turtle or snake on it.
“That was a lot of fun, wasn’t it?” I asked. “Except when the snakes would fall out of the trees and into the boat, scaring us half to death.”
“Remember shining your flashlight up into the trees and seeing those tiny red snake eyes?” said Bobby Joe.
“But we caught a lot of good fish that way,” I replied. “Bobby Joe, why did we ever stop?”
“Girls!” we both laughed.
“We gave it all up for girls with hula hoops, dances, yo-yos, saddle oxfords, poodle skirts, and the skating rink.”
“It was 1958,” Bobby recalled.
“Yep, it was,” I replied. “Mickey’s Malt Shop and Diner was on the corner of Lauderdale and Ray Street, remember?”
“Yes, I remember,” Bobby answered. “Do you remember the jukebox?”
“No,” I stated. “I think you got me on that one.”
“A 1947 Galaxy of the Stars with dual turntables and a streamline sound,” Bobby said.
As we entered the malt shop, everyone greeted us. The turntable of the jukebox spun the song ‘Earth Angel’. I glanced back toward the back, in the corner, and there she was. I punched Bobby on the arm, telling him to look.
“Hey, that’s that new girl at school,” he said, “sitting at our table.”
“She can sit there all she wants,” I said in amazement.
Slowly we walked back toward her, wondering what we were going to say. However, we were both dumbfounded when she spoke.
“Hi,” she said, “a table for three.”
We just looked at her.
She looked back and asked, “Is anything wrong?”
“Oh, no, nothing,” we both jabbered.
“My name is Becky Anne.”
Bobby and I instantly clicked with Becky Anne and the chemistry of love was in the air. From that moment on, we bonded together until the end. We sat down that day and began to talk. As the time passed and we got more acquainted, the tension relaxed, and the laughter came.
Becky was from Tupelo, Mississippi. Her dad had been transferred here for work.
As she turned, I thought how pretty she was as she tugged on her earrings. She reminded me of a movie star. Then she slipped off her clip-on earrings and laid them on the table. Bobby Joe was as fascinated with her as I. She was different, but she had it all together. We both tried to hold back our feelings for her. I guess we acted like two love struck pups. If she saw through us, she didn’t let on.
Bobby Joe told her I liked football and basketball, and he liked cars. He drove a 1957 Chevy Nomad. From that point on, the trio was inseparable, and the love triangle began to grow.
When Bobby and I were fourteen, we got this crazy idea to make some homemade wine. We went to the woods and found some possum grapes. We took them home, mashed them up, and placed them in a small wide mouth jar. We really thought we were doing something, and we still laugh about it today. We stretched a condom over the mouth of the jar and as the grapes worked off, the condom inflated. As time passed, the condom stretched bigger and bigger letting us know the grapes were fermented. When the mash had time to work itself off the condom would deflate, letting us know the wine was ready. We did it again for our science project in school. The other kids had a field-day with it. The teacher didn’t seem to think it was too funny.
Time was so simple then. It seemed like the older we got, the more complicated things were. The things that seemed so simple then, grew to be such a big deal.
Bobby and I worked in tobacco fields and hauled hay in the summer, and we cut wood in the winter. We worked hard, but we also played hard. From working on the farm to swimming, fishing, hunting, and frog gigging, we were always competitive, even in grade school. We’d race through the tobacco patch, cutting it to see who could finish their row first, or who could handle more bales of hay. It was a sight to see. We both had our weaknesses and limitations, which we found out through Becky Anne.
Bobby Joe was a little hotheaded, and I was a little more laid back. One day I was at Mickey’s waiting for Bobby Joe when Becky Anne came in and sat down beside me and started talking. The jukebox spun and started playing ‘Smoke G
“I like you a lot, Jimmy Allen.”
I glanced up and saw Bobby Joe as he turned his back toward me. I yelled at him, and he slowly turned back around and walked over. He was dressed in penny loafers, jeans, white socks, and a t-shirt with his right sleeve rolled up.
“Hey, guys,” he said, “anything going on?”
She turned to reply but I interrupted, “No, what’s going on with you?”
“Ah, nothing much,” he said.
“Sit down, Bobby Joe,” she insisted. “I’m hungry.”
We gave our orders to the waitress and I asked Bobby Joe what was up. He replied that he was going over to the tattoo store on Junction 10 and he wanted me to go with him.
“Are you going to get a tattoo, Bobby Joe?” she asked. “That’s great. I love tattoos.”
“Yes, Becky Anne, I am. I’m thinking about getting a rose with your name under it,” he said. “Don’t you think that would be cool, Jimmy Allen?” he smirked.
“Oh, I do,” Becky said before I could answer. “Nobody has ever done that before.”
“’Mama’ would probably be better,” I answered.
Right about then a homeless man came into the shop.
“Look,” said Becky. “Who is that?”
“That’s Hubcap,” I told her. “He lives around Patterson and picks up bottles on the side of the road.”
“Why do they call him Hubcap?”
“When he was younger he’d steal hubcaps off people’s cars and sell them,” said Bobby Joe.
“He looks like he needs a bath,” she replied.
A couple of boys stood up and started to make fun of him. Bobby Joe quickly stood to his feet and approached them.
“Back off,” he warned. “Let him be.”
“Everything is cool,” they said. “We don’t want any trouble, Bobby Joe. We were just having a little fun.”
As they left, Bobby and I returned to our seats. Becky looked at us and sighed.
“So, Jimmy Allen, are you with me?” he asked.
“Sure,” I replied, “why not?”
“Me, too!” she cried.
After a quick bite, we were off to Junction 10. Bobby got the rose with Becky’s name wrapped around the stem. She asked if I wanted one.
I promptly replied, “No way.”
But, I do have to admit, it did look good after it healed.
As time passed, tension between Bobby and me seemed to grow. Becky didn’t seem to be able to make up her mind. One minute it was me, the next minute she was going off with Bobby. I guess that’s the way it is in a love triangle. But one thing was for certain: someone would lose.
One day at the diner when Bobby was not around, she told me that he had been sneaking over to her house to see her.
“He tried to kiss me, but I pulled away. Bobby can be a little forceful or pushy at times,” she explained. “I pushed him away and he backed off, accusing me of being with you. I never said a word.”
Becky was intrigued with his wildness, yet she could see how quickly it could get out of hand.
Unexpectedly, a guy ran into the diner. He was yelling that they’d found Hubcap dead. He had been hit by a car as he picked up soda drink bottles beside the road late yesterday evening. The police were looking for two boys to question.
“Oh, my God!” cried Becky. “He was just in here the other day. Do you think those two guys had something to do with it?”
“I don’t know,” I replied. “There’s a lot of traffic along that highway.”
I never mentioned our little talk to Bobby. I figured it would make things worse.
Everything between Bobby and me was not all bad. We were still friends and hung out together. We double dated a lot and met around our table at the malt shop. We listened to the jukebox, ate ice cream at the dairy dip, and bought Becky Anne the latest hits from the record shop. On weekends when we were not at the drive-in sneaking in, we were parked with our dates at the cove with the car radio playing great songs like ‘Why Must I Be a Teenager in Love’ and the song ‘Special Angel.’
One night at the cove, Becky told me, “I love you, Jimmy Allen.”
I asked her if she was sure, but she didn’t reply. Then one night at the skating rink, Bobby Joe got into a fight with some guy from the next county. The guy beat him up pretty bad and if it weren’t for me it could have been worse. I picked Bobby up and took him to the hospital where they doctored his cuts. His nose was broken. His teeth were loose, but they said they would tighten back up. He took a terrible beating. Becky made such a fuss over him. I could have gotten jealous if I wanted to, but that would only make matters worse. The next day we took him to the doctor to have his nose set. Becky and I sat in the lobby, and we could hear Bobby scream when the doctor set it. He wore a band-aid across his nose and had two black eyes for a long time.
In the summer of ’61, Becky and I went on a picnic up in the meadows of Hidden Point. It was beautiful, peaceful, and quiet. The tall grass waved as the breeze blew through its blades. The meadow was covered with wild flowers, and I picked one and placed it behind her ear. She placed the food on the blanket, and we began to talk about things that we had avoided for so long. After we ate, we lay back on the blanket and looked up into the sky; it was so blue. We talked about life, us right now, and the future. She asked me what if I had to go to Vietnam. I told her I didn’t know. I had two more years before I had to sign up for the draft. The war may be over by then, but if I had to go how would she feel? She quickly responded that she didn’t want to talk about it. I asked her about Bobby going off to college after graduation; he could meet someone else and never come home. She said if I went to war there were no guarantees that I would come home either.
“Everything is so up in the air,” she said. “Why do I have to make so many decisions right now?”
I took her by the hand and stated, “One day you’ll have to decide.”
We kissed and made out under the blue sky.
The sixties turned my world upside down. The demonstrations and protests about the war in Vietnam touched all our lives. It was 1962; we were growing up in an uncertain world. The space age, cold war, and the battle on drugs haunted every young person in some way or another.
It was late one night; I was coming home when I saw something on the side of the road. I looked twice, and noticed it was Bobby. I immediately pulled over and stopped. I got out and approached him. He was drunk. He had been at the Sugar Grove Bar and was trying to get home on foot. I helped him over to the car and finally got him in. He was fighting back and cussing. I really don’t think he knew it was me. I took him home with me so he could sleep it off. The next day was the worst part. I filled him with black coffee when I could. He got sick with the dry heaves and puked his insides out.
“Oh, God,” he cried. “I’ll never do this again.”
I had never seen anyone so sick. By afternoon, he had recuperated except for the lingering headache.
The following night, we attended a dance at the skating rink. It appeared the evening would go well until Bobby came over to me and Becky as we danced and asked her to dance with him. His pushing and shoving made it clear that he was looking for trouble. Becky stepped back, and Bobby and I stood face to face. He wanted to know why I had a problem with him wanting to dance with Becky. She easily gave in because she didn’t want any trouble. Unexpectedly, Bobby shoved my back. As I charged forward, Becky stepped between us and I turned and walked away. I stepped outside for a little fresh air. Shortly, I saw Becky getting in his car. As they drove off, I couldn’t help but wonder if she knew what she was doing. It was time to call it a night, so I headed for home.
The next day, I
He hushed her and whispered, “Don’t say a word.”
He told her all his heart. As he reached over to kiss her, she pulled away. He immediately grabbed and kissed her passionately. She pulled back and slapped him on the cheek. Then she grabbed him and returned the kiss as they both slipped down in the seat.
The next day I saw Becky at the malt shop. I asked her how it went and she told me they mainly talked. But, I suspected more.
“He’s crazy about me,” she said. “He doesn’t want to go off to college. He wants to stay here with me. I don’t know what’s gotten into him. I’ve never seen him act so crazy.”
“I’m going to stay away for a while. Maybe if I’m out of the picture he’ll slow down some.”
“But, Jimmy Allen,” she said. “I want to see you. Can’t we all be friends like we use to be?” she begged. “Why do people have to grow up and fall in love? It was much simpler then.”
“But that’s life,” I replied. “I’ll see you around—bye.”
“But what about the prom?” she cried.
“Go with Bobby!” I yelled.
“But…but,” she stuttered.
After that day, for weeks, I hardly ever saw either of them. It seemed like we were all trying to avoid each other. Then one day in the parking lot at school, Becky saw Bobby. He blew his horn at her and she went over to him.
“Hey, girl, how’s it going?” he asked.
“Okay,” she replied. “What about you?”
“Okay,” he said. “I guess you are going to the prom with Jimmy Allen.”
“Nope,” she answered.
“You’re not going with Jimmy Allen? Who are you going with?”
“I’m not going,” she said.
“Why?” he asked.
“I don’t have anyone to go with.”
“What about me?” he asked.
“What about you, Bobby Joe? Are you asking me to the prom?”
“Yes,” he replied. “Do you want to go?”
“Yes, I do,” she answered.
“Good, I’ll pick you up then,” he said.
He took off in his Nomad, squealing his tires.
“At least I get to go,” she mumbled under her breath.
It was only a couple of weeks until the prom. Becky had tried to call me, but I didn’t take her call. She came by the house a few times, but I was out. I had seen her at school from time to time, but we didn’t have much to say. I told her I thought it would be in our best interest not to hang around each other for a while.
Finally, the big night came. The class of ’63 prom had a display of wild hairdos, pony tails, bouffants, beehives, and the pixie look. There was a big turnout. I went by myself to party with my old classmates one last time. There was a live band, decorations, and spiked punch. The evening went great. I danced with several of the young ladies. Oh, yes, Bobby and Becky were there. I tried to stay clear of them. But Becky was determined not to leave it alone. She walked over to me and asked me to dance. I looked, and I didn’t see Bobby. As we hit the dance floor, the band started playing ‘Hold Me, Thrill Me, Kiss Me.’ We talked while we danced. It had been a long time since we had talked like that. As I enjoyed the moment, I felt someone pull back on my shoulder. When I turned, Bobby’s fist caught me in the eye. Becky screamed and started crying. I grabbed him by the collar. He stood there and dared me to hit him. I couldn’t, so I walked away. We had been friends too long to destroy it. Real friendship doesn’t come around in life too often. As I made my way to the car, Bobby came out to me.
“I’m sorry, Jimmy,” he said. “I’m sorry about it all. I guess I’ve really made a real butt hole out of myself.”
Becky walked up and she was still crying.
“Don’t worry about it, Bobby,” I said as I stuck out my hand to shake his, “friends.”
He reached for my hand and said, “The best of friends.”
“Hey,” I said, “let’s go eat, I’m buying.”
“Sounds good,” they replied.
We sat at our table for three until closing. Bobby took Becky home, and I drove myself. The last thing he told her was that he didn’t know if he could live without her.
Two weeks later we graduated from Patterson Sr. High.
A few days later, Bobby and I met at the cove. We were sitting on the hood of my car talking about what we were going to do. I had received a draft notice and was to appear for a physical in two weeks. I was headed for Vietnam. This fall Bobby was going off to college. We sat around a while, laughing and talking about growing up in Patterson. Bobby and I laid down the swords, grew up, and quit wasting our time on something that really didn’t matter.
Bobby offered me a ride in his car. He had done some work on it, and he wanted me to see how good it ran.
We hopped in his old ’57 Nomad. He cranked it up and ripped the engine.
“Sounds great,” I told him.
We took off down the road. Bobby reached over and turned the music up. They were playing the song ‘Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow.’ About three miles down the road we met a police car coming our way. As he closed in on us, Bobby pushed the ’57 Nomad to its limits. The officer watched as the car went out of control and flipped over. The high speed of the car shot it sailing over the embankment and into the river. The swift current carried the car away.
A mile down the river, the officers found the car and their bodies. They were both dead at the scene. The car behind them said it looked like they were fighting, passing licks, and lost control. The policeman believed they were horsing around and lost control. They will probably never know.
Back at Mickey’s, Becky was waiting at their table. She had finally, after all this time, made up her mind of who she wanted to spend her life with. She was going to tell them when they arrived. Suddenly, a guy rushed through the door of the malt shop with the news.
“Jimmy Allen and Bobby Joe just had a wreck up around Hidden Woods Road.”
You could hear a pin drop. Everyone held their breath.
“Are they alright?” asked Becky Anne.
The guy dropped his head. “I’m sorry, Becky.”
She broke down and went into hysterics. They had to hold her down.
“No, no, no, God,” she cried. “Oh, please, no.”
They were buried there in Patterson. Not long after the funeral, Becky and her dad moved back to Tupelo. She bore a child about nine months after they were killed. She lived there and raised her son; she never married.