I remember the day that fat asshole Freddy Kirst nearly drowned me.
We were twelve or thirteen, and swimming in the filth shined waters of the harbor. When the tide was high and the boats were gone you could jump off the bulkheads or shinny up another four feet and perch on the creosoted tops of the pilings...then fly! And cannonball, always the cannonball.
We were supposed to take turns and should jump to the right, because there was a big, wicked-sharp anchor embedded in the silt over to the left.
And I remember soaring, splashing, a perfect cannonball. Then I remember being driven down into the mud when something big, soft and bone-crushingly heavy landed on my head.
It was Freddy, that big fat son of a bitch.
And he was laughing when I finally got to the surface.
As I recall he could suddenly swim much faster that day. He knew I was going to hurt him if I could catch him. And I remember learning that the popping, circling stars of a good thump on the head can be clearly seen- even under water.
North Chesterfield, VA
Self-employed Carpenter/builder, survivor of the 60's, untutored newbie as far as writing goes, saved by the grace of God through Jesus, married to the most exciting woman on the planet!
As to the writing thing....it's exciting to put new oars in the water....even at my age.