WIWAB - Harry's

Back at our camp I slid down the bank and walked to where the wire live-net held our two fish. I pulled up the cord. My fish lay on the bottom, mouth opening and closing. The smaller one gave out sullen "Croak", and flipped back and forth across the top of the larger one. I let go the cord and the net sank back in the river.

Dad stood beside me. "They OK?" I nodded. He said, "Go wash some of the dirt off you in the river. I'll give you a boost up the bank when you're ready. You can change clothes and we'll head to town."

Washing off the dirt to me meant taking a swim. So I did. I waded out as far as I could then ducked under and swam a couple strokes toward the poles on the far bank. Then I paddled back and walked up on the gravel. I shivered a little. It was getting pretty dark. At the bank Dad was waiting. He reached out his hand for me and 'hooked' me up onto the high ground.

"Peel off those wet clothes. Here's a towel. Get dried off. Change into your dry stuff. I'll get the fire ready for tonight."

I dried off while I walked to the car. My dry jeans, t-shirt, and a sweatshirt were in the backseat. I hid behind the car door and stripped off my shoes, jeans, and shirt. It felt strange to be standing in nothing but underwear out in the open. Then it dawned on me I didn't have a dry pair of underwear to put on. That was a dilemma: put on dry jeans over the wet shorts or go without? It felt really strange, but I stripped off the wet Jockeys and quickly pulled on the dry jeans. T-shirt came next and I was cool enough to put on the sweatshirt too. I stuffed my feet in my 'good' running shoes, and I was ready.

"What do I do with the wet stuff?" I called out.

"Bring 'em here. I'll hang 'em on a branch."

So I gathered up my dripping clothes and carried them over. I already felt better for being in dry gear. Dad had pulled off his waders and stood in his jeans too. He wrung out as much water as he could and lay my clothes over a bush.

"Man, I'm hungry," he said. "A 'burger or two sounds great, doesn't it."

I nodded.

"What do you think? Shall we go back home or go to Harry's? Harry's is a little closer, and I'm pretty hungry."

I said, "We always go to Harry's."

"OK, Harry's it is," he said, knowing that there really was no other answer.

We got in the car and drove out of the clearing back onto the dirt track next to the river. The car's headlights made a surreal tunnel as we drove the narrow road between the corn on our right and the nettles on our left. Eventually we made it to the main gravel road and turned right out of the gate guarding the field. The gravel road led to an asphalt highway. In 20 minutes we pulled into the small town of Deer Creek. On our right a neon sign flashed Harry's Bar.

We parked in front without a problem. The single main street was mostly deserted. A couple pickup trucks were parked near the bar.

Harry's had no windows and the single small window in the door was blacked out. Dad pulled open the door and waved me in. I gulped and walked in. Maybe ten men sat around the bar to my left or in booths that lined the wall to my right. The air was a haze of cigarette smoke. A jukebox at the far end played country and western music. All eyes turned toward me as I walked in, decided I was no threat and not interesting in any other way, and went back to staring at their glasses of beer or whiskey. One of the booths was empty -- right under the mural. Dad brushed past me and walked toward it.

"Glad to see they haven't changed the decor," he said. He slid into the booth facing the door. I slid in across from him, trying not to stare at the picture mounted on the wall to my right.

"Dance of the Amazons. Ain't it a master piece?" he said with a grin. I sheepishly looked at the painting: bare-breasted Amazons danced around a blazing fire. Sinister, dark jungle lurked just outside the light. I could hear the drums beating, the fire crackling, the chanting of the men sitting in a circle surrounding the dancing women. My introduction to the world of men. I knew I shouldn't look, but I wanted to look. But, Dad was looking, and smiling. So I looked, and smiled. Breasts. Pretty cool. You could look and it was OK. "It's just art. Nothing to be ashamed of," Dad said. "Not good art. In fact, really bad art. But, it does tell a story."

The bartender came over to take our order. I quickly looked at the table of our booth. Dozens of names, numbers, phrases were carved or written on the top.

"Bring us a schooner of beer and a schooner of Coke," Dad said. "We'll order food after you bring that."

The bartender nodded and headed back toward the bar. Dad pulled a couple of menus from behind the glass jar of sugar next to the wall. "Havin' the usual?", he asked.

I pretended to look at the menu but already knew what we both were having. He'd get a cheeseburger and fries. I'd get two cheeseburgers and fries. The bartender came back with our drinks and that's just what we ordered.

"Want to wash your hands?" Dad asked.

"Nah. I washed in the river," I answered.

"Yeah, me too. But I have to use the toilet." He stood up and walked to the restrooms in the rear.

I turned and looked at the painting. Breasts. Legs. Breasts. Short grass skirts. Breasts.

Still engrossed in the artwork, I jumped when he slid back into his seat.

"I decided not to wash my hands. Cheeseburgers just wouldn't be the same without a little crawfish slime as seasoning."

Knowing he was lying, I nodded and said, "Yes, but even that's not good unless mixed with nightcrawler slime."

"And minnow scales, of course."

"Mud doesn't hurt either."

"You need the bathroom before the food comes?" he asked.

"Yeah, maybe," I answered and slid out of the booth. I washed my hands when I was done.

When I got back, the food was waiting. Dad ordered another beer and I had a second cola. We ate like we were starving. Dad walked up to the bar to pay when we were done and came back with four candy bars. "I thought something sweet sounded good," he said giving me two Snickers bars. "Let's eat one now and save one to celebrate if we get any fish."

I pulled open the wrapper and took a bite, stuffing the second one in my jeans pocket.

"Ready? Let's go see how many fish we caught."

We walked out the door and jumped in the car. For some reason the ride back to our camp seemed twice as long as the ride to the bar.