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James Bates |
We were walking home in
the early evening from the neighborhood rink, skates swings from the blades of
our hockey sticks. Little Eddie was eight years old, younger than me by three
years and smaller by a head and a half. He was revved up after the game since
it was the first time he'd gotten to play with The Big Kids, as he
called us, so he was excited and talking a mile a minute while I ignored him,
thinking about Christmas coming up in two days and wondering if our parents
would call.
The temperature was near zero and we were getting cold, so
I did something I never should have done. I had us take a shortcut across the big
pond that formed one edge of the boundary to the trailer park where our
grandparent's double-wide was parked. The ice had recently formed, but I
figured it'd save us ten minutes, so why not take a chance, being as cold as we
were?
Cold but thirsty.
We were eating handfuls of snow as we shuffled along, and I was watching a
dozen or so crows flocking to roost in a dead tree on the shoreline a hundred
yards away. Suddenly, the ice made a sickening sound and started to crack. I immediately
thought of Eddie. If we broke through, he'd be toast. He wasn't the strongest
swimmer in the world.
I
put my hand out. "Stop!" I commanded, and for once my brother obeyed
me. I was about to say, "Don't move," when all of a sudden the ice
gave way and we plunged into the frigid water, sticks and skates flying. Eddie
held onto me while I grabbed for the edge, but the ice kept breaking away until
I lost my hold and slipped off, pulled under by the combined weight of our
waterlogged clothes. We sank down, down, down, Little Eddie clinging to me in
terror, bubbles streaming from his mouth. I thought for sure we were done for
when miraculously my feet hit the mucky bottom.
The water was so muddy all I could see was opaque light
from the hole above, but I figured we had a chance. I held Little Eddie tight,
squatted down, and then extended my legs fast like two pistons, shooting us
upward. We broke through the surface, coughing and gasping. I tried to tread
water, but my boots were so heavy I soon became exhausted. Worse, my arms were
going numb from the cold and I was starting to lose my grip on Little Eddie. As
best I could, I tightened my hold on him and slung my other arm over the edge
of the hole, but the ice broke and we started to sink again. Panicking, I kicked
my legs as hard as I could to stay afloat, breaking through more ice before I
finally found some solid enough to support us. I hung on for dear life
completely spent with no idea what to do next.
It was then I heard Little Eddie whimpering. He had
turned his cold, wet face into my neck for warmth or comfort or both. He was even
more terrified than I was. His raw fear jump-started my will to save him. With
a sudden surge of energy I didn't know I had, I kicked and pushed, and shoved with
all my remaining strength until I was able to leverage my nearly frozen brother
up out of the water and clear of the hole. He lay panting and coughing on the
ice while I hung onto the edge, fighting a losing battle with the unrelenting cold.
Slowly, Little Eddie began to revive until he was able to
roll over and look at me, ice crystals forming on his wet clothes. "Rick,
are you alright?"
"I'm freezing to death," I told him, my teeth chattering.
"You need to get help."
"Won't we get into trouble?"
These days, when we talk about that night, my brother's statement
always makes us laugh. Back then, though, our situation was too dire to be even
remotely funny. I swore, "God damn it, Eddie, run and get help. Now. Fast!"
He scrambled to his feet, and even though his clothes
were beginning to freeze solid like icy boards, he ran like I'd never seen him
run before.
I'll never forget waiting for him. Night had fallen
completely and the temperature had become dangerously cold. My body had lost
all feeling. My waterlogged boots and clothes threatened to drag me back underwater
at any moment. I passed into and out of consciousness as hypothermia took over.
I wondered if I'd ever see my little brother again. With our parents both in
prison for years to come, he was the closest family I had. Grandpa and Grandma did
their best, but it wasn't the same without Mom and Dad around. Little Eddie...Well,
he was my brother. We were family. We needed each other.
I finally passed out for good. I was slowly freezing to
death when I thought I heard a voice. Was it my imagination? Probably. Then, I
heard it again. What was going on? I forced my frozen eyelids open and saw Little
Eddie. He'd returned with a neighbor who had called the police. But my little
brother hadn't waited safely off to the side like a prudent person would have
done. Courageously, he had edged back onto the ice and laid himself out prone, extending
his hand to me, "Here, Rick. Grab on." Through the fog of my near
unconsciousness, I followed his instruction. I reached for my brother and felt
him grasp my hand." I've got you," he said. "Hold on." And
I did.
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