As Told by Jimmy Matthew and Jim Leroy, Who Were Under Strict Orders Not to Go Near It

There are creeks, there are rivers, and then there is Terrapin Creek after a week of March rain. Lord help us all. That little ribbon of water that usually ran so polite and clear suddenly got ideas above its raisin’. It puffed up, swelled out, and marched through the woods like it was reclaimin’ lost territory. Trees leaned away from it. Rocks disappeared under it. And the whole thing roared like an angry calf with its tail caught in a gate.

Now, my mother gave me one instruction that morning. It was short, clear, and delivered with the same tone sheriffs use right before they read a man his rights.

“Do not, under any circumstance, go anywhere near Terrapin Creek. Not to look. Not to wonder. Not to even breathe the same air.”

Problem was, she gave the same instruction to Jimmy Matthew.

When adults say “do not,” Jimmy hears “what are you waitin’ for.”

I was halfway through a peanut butter sandwich when Jimmy marched through the back door without knockin’, without greetin’, and without any concern for the sanctity of my mother’s floors.

“Terrapin’s runnin’ wild,” he said, all worked up. “I heard it from Bertie Lou’s daddy who heard it from a man at the mill who saw it from the bridge. He said it looks like the creek is tryin’ to climb out of its own self.”

I said, “We ain’t goin’.”

Jimmy said, “I ain’t askin’.”

He never did.

We set out across the field behind my house, slippin’ and slidin’ through mud that tried its level best to steal our shoes. The sky hung low, heavy with clouds that looked like they had one more good rain in them. The air smelled of wet leaves, grass, and somethin’ electric. The whole world felt swollen.

By the time we reached the ridge where the land dipped down toward the creek, we could hear it. Lord, could we hear it. It wasn’t a creek anymore. It was a stampede made of water. A freight train made of foam. A choir of angry baptisms.

“Jim,” Jimmy whispered, peepin’ through the brush, “it ain’t right for water to make that kind of noise.”

He was correct. Terrapin Creek roared like it wanted a fight.

We eased out onto an overlook where we could see it proper. The water had climbed clean out of its banks. It churned and boiled. It spun whirlpools big enough to swallow a fishing boat. The air was so thick with mist, it gave us freckles of cold water.

Jimmy squinted real serious.

“You know,” he said, “we might be the only two people who ever saw Terrapin Creek this mad.”

I said, “That is because everybody else has got some sense.”

Jimmy ignored that.

“I bet I could outrun it.”

I grabbed his shirt.

“You ain’t runnin’ nowhere. This is how folks get their names in the paper, and not in the celebratory sections.”

We stood there a long while, watchin’ the water throw tree limbs around like toothpicks. The whole world felt alive, charged, almost musical. It was terrifyin’… and it was beautiful.

Somewhere down the banks, a big root ball rolled past like a giant’s tumbleweed.

Jimmy gasped.

“Look at that. That is the size of Mrs. Langley’s Buick.”

I nodded.

“Yep. And the creek picked it up like it was nothin’.”

Jimmy grinned a grin that ought to have come with a safety warning.

“You wanna get a little closer?”

“No.”

“We can just take one step.”

“No.”

“What if we crawl?”

“Absolutely not.”

“What if we hold hands so we double our intelligence?”

“I am not holdin’ your hand.”

He shrugged.

“Suit yourself, Jim. But this is history.”

Now, against all better judgment and every childhood survival instinct, I let curiosity steer the wheel. We edged down the slope. The mud tried to skitter us toward the water, but we fought gravity like two boys who knew Mama would tan our hides if the creek didn’t get us first.

We reached a safe-enough distance.
Close enough to feel the spray.
Close enough to smell the cold.
Far enough to avoid bein’ swallowed whole.

And just then, Terrapin Creek made a sound I had never heard from water in my entire life.

It growled.

A deep, rolling rumble like the earth itself was speakin’. It started low, rose higher, and exploded in a crash that shook the bank under our feet.

Jimmy froze.

“Jim Leroy… that creek ain’t natural.”

I nodded.

“We better go.”

“Yep.”

We ran.
We slid.
We flailed.
We hollered the whole way back.

By the time we reached my yard, soaked and laughin’ like fools, Mother was standin’ on the porch with that look that made my soul leave my body for just a moment.

She said, “Where have you been?”

Before I could answer, Jimmy piped up with:

“We was keepin’ a respectful distance from the Lord’s handiwork.”

Mama stared.
Blinkin’.
Not buyin’ a word.

I said, “We might’ve accidentally been near Terrapin Creek.”

Jimmy added, “But we saw history.”

Mama closed her eyes.

“I’m goin’ to tell your Mawmaw, and she will pray for both of you.”

Jimmy said, “We could use it.”

That night, long after supper, I lay in bed listenin’ to the rain tick the tin roof. I thought of Terrapin Creek roarin’ like a hungry beast. I thought of how close we got. I thought of how beautiful it was.

And I thought of Jimmy Matthew, who was a hazard to himself, me, and the entire system of parental authority.

But Lord, it was a day worth rememberin’.

A day the creek was alive.
A day we was fools.
A day spring itself kicked the door open and hollered hello.

I reckon that is what March is for.

*****

New Yesterdays can be found at: Books-A-Million, Barnes & Noble, and Amazon, as well as your favorite bookshops. The Audiobook is available from Libro.fm, as well as Amazon.