Date: Thu, 27 Oct 2022 23:25:35 +0000 (UTC) From: James Breitbart Subject: Skinnydip Creek Chapter 7 The Fourth of July is a big deal in Bartlett, and this year was no exception. The day began for me at church. Reverend Whaley delivered a sermon on the blessings of freedom of religion and how the separation of church and state protected the integrity of the church, which I think was at least partially intended as a rebuke to those who wanted their church placed in charge of public decency ordinances. Right after church, we walked to the square, which featured live music, food, and this year a voter registration booth manned by Lizzie and a trio of gap-toothed Brownies. I chatted with Lizzie while we waited for the parade to arrive. The parade began at the mill and wound around the square before ending where Main Street turned into the bypass. It featured the high school's marching band, a vintage firetruck, floats created by various civic groups, veterans of every war since World War II, and Uncle Cecil waving to the crowd from the back of his district director's Mustang. He pretended not to notice the banner outside First Baptist Church that read. "End Sodomy in Wray County. Shut Down Skinnydip Creek." After the parade, Uncle Cecil returned to the square to work the crowd. He found that not all of his constituents were as receptive as usual, particularly Pastor Dan Watkins of the First Baptist Church. They had what looked like a tense conversation which ended just before it grew heated, and then Uncle Cecil walked over to me. "Sam! Good to see you, why don't you introduce me to your friends?" "This is Lizzie, and I'm sure you recognize Adrian from the paper. We've been working on some stuff for the First Frost Club over the summer. And this is Matty who I was telling you about yesterday." Uncle Cecil shook Matty's hand. "So, you're the folks who've stirred up all this trouble for me." Matty blushed. "Well, it's really more my parents and sister." "You don't need to tell me. I've got two teenagers at home, and a daughter who's 10 going on 30." I interjected before Uncle Cecil could subject us to any more of his humor. "I was just going to try to buttonhole you and wrangle an invitation for Adrian and his folks to the cookout. I take it Reverend Watkins won't be attending?" "Oh, he'll be attending. He says he has a petition he wants to deliver in person. Of course, he's going to hand it to me at a party I invited him to and then make a big deal to the other preachers about how he's so brave because he took it personally to my house, but that's neither here nor there. Adrian and his folks are welcome to come, and you can bring Matty here as a plus-one. Just try not to get into any hanky-panky in front of the minister. I think his head might explode." The cookout was the culmination of the day. Uncle Cecil invited everybody who was anybody in Wray County to his house, which was positioned so that it had a perfect view of the fireworks. Uncle Cecil always manned the grill which, given the natural tendency of men to congregate around a grill when it's in use, gave him a prime opportunity to chat up local notaries. Dad tended bar, serving up fresh-squeezed lemonade to the kids and more invigorating fare to adults. Matty and I got lemonades and went down to the small pond on the property, where some younger kids were taking a dip supervised by Adrian's older sister Alicia while Adrian introduced his parents to Mr. and Mrs. Clements. Matty and I dangled our feet in the water, mainly so I would have an excuse to roll up my pant legs and show off my ankles. Matty was wearing shorts and the anklet I'd gotten him for his birthday. Adrian had worn shoes and socks, but quickly took them off and sat next to us on the dock. "I'll spot Alicia if y'all want to go up and get drinks," I offered. "Nah, Jasmin's in there with them." Jasmin was Adrian's youngest sister, who I think had recently turned four. We splashed around a bit and shot the shit. Adrian seemed impressed by his surroundings. "Man, if you told me before I got that scholarship that I'd be going to parties at a congressman's house with Sam Murchison, I'd have said you were crazy." "Well, get used to it. I think we're about to need you front and center." We convinced Mr. and Mrs. Concepcion to pull Jazmin out of the water, and I buttonholed Emily Burns into supervising the remaining children so that I could go introduce them to Uncle Cecil, who offered a choice of burgers or beer can chicken and complimented Adrian on his soccer game. Adrian realized that he wouldn't be able to hold onto his shoes and eat at the same time, so I suggested that we store them in one of the boys' rooms, where they'd be sure not to get picked up. I picked Scott's solely because it was closer. We ran into Scott on our way in. He was with, of all people, Reverend Watkins' daughter Sarah, and they had both clearly been drinking. It was pretty obvious what they were about to do, but I didn't think it was my place to say anything about it. Instead, I just explained that we wanted to store Adrian's shoes in his room. "Sure, but be quick about it, unless you want to watch," Scott smirked. "Sam doesn't want to watch," Sarah giggled, then leaned in and told Scott in a stage whisper that I don't know if she actually thought I wouldn't hear or not, "your cousin's a little fag." Adrian stuffed his shoes just inside the door and we hurriedly excused ourselves to get food: a burger and a chicken wing each, supplemented with deviled eggs, corn, and watermelon salad. The adults and young children had monopolized the deck space, which included all of the furniture, so we joined the rest of the teenagers on the lawn. Wyatt had gotten stuck talking to Reverend Watkins' son Jackie, who was no one's first choice of party companion. He was a nervous, socially awkward 18-year-old, who tended to parrot his father's judgements of everyone else, although without any of his father's conviction behind him. Although he was an object of derision among the creek crowd, I kind of pitied him as he had good reason to be cowed by his father. An older son had been kicked out of Liberty University after being caught in a compromising position with another boy and never seen or heard from in Bartlett since. Based on his mannerisms, everyone assumed that Jackie had the same proclivities, but if he ever acted on them, it was a secret kept from every other teenaged boy in Bartlett. With me, Matty, and Adrian, our group was large enough that Jackie's presence didn't keep us from having a good time. He sort of hung out on the edges of the group and didn't say much but winced whenever one of us cussed or referred to sex. The sun was starting to sink below the horizon when Reverend and Mrs. Watkins showed up, both affixing me and Matty with a dirty look. I was pretty sure that Jackie was about to be in trouble for talking to us. "I believe it's time for us to get going, Jackie. Have you seen your sister?" Adrian and I exchanged horrified looks behind Reverend Watkins' back as Jackie stammered out. "She was around here somewhere." "Well, let's go find her." The three of us walked off with all deliberate speed to get Sarah before her father found her, with Wyatt trailing behind. "What's got you guys all fired up?" "If Reverend Watkins finds Sarah before we do there's going to be more fireworks than the town paid for." Fortunately, we had a head start because we knew exactly where Sarah was, while Reverend Watkins assumed she was mingling with the other guests. We found her on the bed with her legs spread open, Scott's snow-white buttocks thrusting between them. He picked up the pace when he saw us come in and pretty soon stiffened in the external signs of an orgasm. After finishing he rolled over and looked up at the four of us, assuming we'd come to gawk. "Like the show?" "Great performance, but you don't have time for an encore. Sarah's daddy's looking for her." "Shit!" Sarah jumped up and began hurriedly putting on her clothes. "Do I look alright?" "Go to the bathroom, pee, and fix your hair," Adrian told her in a calm voice. Reverend Watkins caught Sarah just as she was coming out of the bathroom, hair and makeup perfectly adjusted. "Where have you been? We've been looking all over for you." "Oh, I just had to visit the little girls room." "You weren't drinking anything you shouldn't have been?" Sarah pretended not to understand her father. "Well, I guess I should have just had one cup of lemonade, but Mr. Murchison's is just so good. I couldn't help myself!" "Well, come on. We need to get home before the traffic from the fireworks starts." It was a bullshit excuse -- the only traffic jams in Bartlett happen when some farmer doesn't maintain their fence properly and their livestock gets into the road, but I figured I could wait until the next morning to find out what had happened. The fireworks were about to start, and I wanted to watch them with Matty. I found myself back at Uncle Cecil's the next day for the subcommittee meeting. Aunt Jackie served us leftover chicken and deviled eggs while Uncle Cecil told us what we'd missed. "He was trying to get me to come down against the creek, and I told him it sounded like a local issue. Then he brought up you and your daddy, and I told him I would appreciate it if he didn't bring my family into it, so he started on that bible verse about hating your mother and father." "He was about to ruin the party," Aunt Jackie said, "so I suggested that he save the business talk for the district office." "...and I got an earful this morning. He's already got candidates drafted to run in the primaries for mayor, sheriff, and the two council positions that are up this year if the council votes to accept your proposal, and he says that if I don't put out a statement against it, he's going to get Clay Routledge to run against me in the next cycle." Clayton Routledge was the heir to the logging company Mr. Farrelli was supposedly in the process of suing, and his family occupied a similar position in Bailey County to the one my family occupied in Wray County. He had run against Uncle Cecil in the primary during his first campaign and, after losing, taken up a seat in the state legislature. The difference between Routledge and Uncle Cecil was that, while Cecil voted the party line on social issues, Routledge was a real advocate for the right wing. He'd used his seat in the legislature to keep the state's sodomy law on the books, even after it was overturned by the Supreme Court, and make sure schools in the state taught abstinence-only sex education and gave "equal time" to intelligent design, while using his personal fortune to build up loyalty from the conservative activist groups. He'd be a formidable opponent in a rematch. Lizzie explained our plan to register Hispanic voters, but Uncle Cecil shook his head. "You're not going to get enough votes with just the Mexicans. You have to think bigger." "But then how do we make sure they're actually going to vote for our candidates?" "The Moral Majority knows exactly who's going to vote for them, and they make damn sure they're registered and turn up on Tuesday. We can assume anyone who's not registered is less likely to care about the creek, and low-information voters are statistically more likely to vote for the incumbent. Watkins has his votes locked in. What we need to do is come up with more votes that aren't. I'd suggest going door-to-door." "Girl Scouts aren't allowed to go door-to-door," Lizzie explained. "What about Boy Scouts?" Ricky called out. He and Scott had just gotten back from a trip to buy marijuana, which was much easier and safer to obtain in Bartlett than McLean. Sherriff Pollard's philosophy was that, between law and order, order was the more important, and he didn't pay much attention to victimless crimes unless they posed a threat to public order. "Naw," I responded, "the Boy Scouts around here is made up of boys whose parents make them join to keep them busy and away from the creek. If they figure out what we're really up to, it'll get back to Watkins within the day." We ended up modifying the original plan. The Girl Scouts and Future Women Voters would ask the churches to let them set up a table in each church's vestibule to register folks as they came out of church. We decided to include the fundamentalist churches, reasoning that the preachers would have already registered most of their congregants so the risk of registering people who'd turn around and vote against us was low compared to the benefits of demonstrating our non-partisan bona fides. We'd start more targeted outreach to potential Hispanic voters when the school year started, and we could leverage Ramsey's Spanish club and recruit a slate of school board candidates who would run on a platform of hiring a translator and fixing up the junior high school to give them something to vote for. Hitherto, the school board had been given over to the fundamentalists because most people in the dominant power structure sent their kids to Ramsey after elementary school, so our plan was something of an escalatory step. We had ten days to recruit candidates and get enough petitions signed to put them on the ballot.