The Rig
an excerpt

Larry sat in the tree house that his father had built. He rubbed his calloused, bare feet over the rough, flat, wooden boards of the floor as he looked out the paneless window. He saw a patch of white and a flash of blue through the tall golden summer grass as he glanced down the hill.

“Is that them?” he thought. He heard their far off voices, arguing the way brothers do. He leaned out the window, holding tightly to the rounded planks on the outside of the tree house. “Up here you guys! Hurry!” his voiced cracked as he yelled. The patch of colors turned into recognizable figures, as the brothers made their way up to the laurel tree.

“Did you hear?’’ Larry asked Grant as he climbed into Larry’s tree fort. Grant moved through the hatch and sat on the wooden floor as Tim followed.

“Yeah,” Tim answered. “A big rig crashed and they hauled it to the vacant lot next to Reynold’s Grocery. I heard it was smashed up pretty bad.”

“The driver died.” Grant said.

“We should go see it.” Larry said.

Grant and Tim looked at each other. Grant answered, “Mom and Dad told us to stay away from it.”

“Let’s go. How are they going to know?” Larry challenged. Tim smiled and poked Grant hard in the ribs with stiffened fingers.

“Knock it off!” Grant took a swipe at Tim and connected in the middle of his chest as Tim moved back. Tim kicked at Grant, narrowly missing. Grant leaped back, landing with a thud on the tree house wall. The fort in the laurel tree swayed. Tim grinned and scurried out the hatch. He moved down the rope ladder two steps at a time. When he got to the ground, he laughed.

“Meet you there.” He yelled and took off running down the hill. Grant and Larry looked at each other, grinned and followed Tim.