I'm in the story too, and in fact it's really MY story. But I'm not the star, because it's hard to be the star when you're the victim.

So anyway... I'm in the 4th grade at Jason Lee. I live basically right across Van Geisen and through Rik William's side yard and across John Coon's back yard and up a short slope and through the hinged gate leading into the safe haven of my own backyard. Where nobody who's chasing me can get me. Nobody. It's my own backyard, after all.

Now, that's an important piece of information here, because I'm a mouthy little kid and I love to throw dirt clods or snowballs at older kids, or shout dirty names at them as they ride by on their bikes on Van Geisen, and THEN run zig-zagging between the houses on my block and disappear through my back gate and hide there in safety behind the bushes along our fence. That sort of thing.

Back then, there was a narrow paved road running up alongside Jason Lee called Cadillac Road. It's still there, more or less, but now its a legitimate wide street, and it isn't called Cadillac anymore. But back when I was a mouthy 4th grader, Cadillac was the road that separated the grassy Jason Lee playground from a large, rough field, surrounded by a barbed wire fence, where somebody kept two old horses.

I've already mentioned what a mouthy kid I was, and so in fairness to myself I'll also tell you that I really liked these two old horses. I mean, I liked them from a distance. I can't remember why, exactly, but for some reason I was afraid of them, and so I never actually went through the wire fence and walked up to them, or anything like that. The closest I ever got to them was to once in a while throw a couple of carrots over the barbed wire and stand there and wait for them to maybe come ambling over to pick up the carrots in their loose lips. Like I said, I liked these two old horses, but I won't even pretend to know how they felt about me. I honestly can't even tell you if they were male or female. They were just a couple of old horses behind a barbed wire fence in a dry field there across Cadillac Road from the playground at Jason Lee.

But I liked them. I liked them a lot. And I got really pissed off when I came across Van Geisen and up Cadillac with a few carrots one day and saw two high school age boys over in the field with the horses, starting to climb up on their backs to ride.

"HEY!!" I shouted. "HEY!! GET THE HELL OUTTA THERE!" And I ran up to the fence. "LEAVE THOSE HORSES ALONE!"

One of the boys was already mounted, and he turned his face partly towards me and yelled back: "Shut your little a*s up, buddy, before I come over there and shut it for you."

He turned all the way round facing me now, and I could see who it was.

It was Bob Eckert.

Bob Eckert probably wasn't a bad kid, or anything, but he was a tough high school sophomore and I was a loudmouth 4th grader cussing at him from over the fence.

"AW shut up yourself, sh*tface," I yelled. And I dropped the carrots and picked up a dried horse turd.

"Don't even think about it, you little jerk," he said, sliding down off the horse's back.

I threw the horse turd and ran.

I scampered down Cadillac to the corner of Van Geisen and looked back, just as Eckert cleared the barbed wire fence and started after me. Fast.

I got across Van Geisen and through Rik William's side yard and began my familiar evasive maneuver route up among the backyards of the block. Past the Petersons and across John Coon's backyard. I went up the slope towards my back gate, and suddenly, out of nowhere, Bob Eckert grabbed hold of my arm and yanked me to a halt. I let out a scream, and he jerked me around facing him. I screamed again, and he let go of my arm and grabbed the back of my neck and pulled my head back. I started to scream again, and he stuffed a dried horse turd in my mouth.

I gagged and thrashed back and forth, squealing, with his palm over my mouth and his other hand gripping the back of my neck. Then he let go and ran down the slope and across John Coon's backyard and between Rik Williams' and the Nevins' houses and back across Van Geisen to somewhere else.

I fell down on the grass sobbing and spitting out remaining bits of manure.

And then I stopped sobbing, because you have to gulp air in order to sob, and that's a bad idea with bits of dung in your mouth. And, anyway, you sort of lose your enthusiasm for sobbing when you're all by yourself.

And that's the end of the story.

Except to say Happy Birthday, Bob Eckert, and to repeat that I hold no ill-will towards him regarding the events of that day, since, truly, I pretty much brought them upon myself. But I never saw him again. Not ever. Not even once.

But telling the story still leaves a bad taste in my mouth.

(Thassa joke)

Terry Davis Knox
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