Part SIXTEEN – continued from last week’s episode –
The action of Sally releasing her grip on Rusty’s pant legs caused the most unfavorable chain of events. His right thumb on the spool of 180# BIG GAME monofilament fishing line was poorly positioned with the drag set too tight. The result had sling-shotted him into the icy waters.
Rusty’s descent continued… His mind flashed to a youthful day with a rope tied around his waist. Perched like John Rhodes (National Rodeo Hall of Famer) he had lassoed a boar-hog in the barnyard and was promptly paraded through mouthfuls of manure.
This not-well-thought-out endeavor (his first of many on a long list) was a bet naively taken with twin cousins Skip and Scoop. The latter came up with the idea that whoever could lasso and win a tug-o-war against the boar would get out of the group chore of shoveling the lot. Rusty had drawn the long straw giving him unfavorable honors.
His next descending thought… Rusty and his two cousins were racing downhill on bicycles at the city park. The finish line was the backstop of the Babe Ruth baseball diamond.
This ingenious challenge (his second most recent not-well-thought-out-endeavor) demanded the first-place finisher crash head-on into a chain link fence. The “WINNER” would be gifted a slushy of his flavorful choice at The Coolhouse Creamery downtown on the square. His favorite was the lime green / dark purple mix. One part ice and a thousand parts liquid sugar.
Rusty assumed it was a close race… But never looked back to see by what lengths. As the youngest of the cousins, he was under the loyal impression that Skip and Scoop were pedaling with unabashed velocity.
First to the finish line, eyes the size of baseballs, his victory included a not so athletic vault over the handlebars of the Schwinn. The judges (Skip and Scoop) scored his dismount a meager 2 out of 10. His severe racking of “the family jewels” had earned him those two excruciating points.
The awarded slushy was never tasted. Instead, it served the purpose of reducing swelling in the crotchal region. Speed kills. Lesson learned.
Back to the existing dire straits of velocity… The slack of the fishing line which occurred with the reverberation of the sling motion had cinched a half-hitch loop around the big thumb on his right hand. Anyone in this situation would gladly swallow pig poop or collide with a fence.
Rusty was being plunged toward the bottom of a 200-foot hole with eardrums popping like a Presto Poplite Hot Air Popcorn Popper. His association with this smoke show brunette, her worldly outdoor fashion model glamour, and notable generational wealth was nearing its end.
Sally was blindfolded and handcuffed to a wildly racing snow machine. She could have been six miles or a million miles away from Rusty. A single tear (her last) fell to her cheek and froze. With a deep breath she silently vowed this devil stealing her away would meet their maker.
– To be continued –