Chapter 2; 1957 - Something Happens In The Water
Andrew Goldstein had been shot. One of the girls in the lake threw her hands over her head and screamed across the lake. Time seemed to slow, each second dragging out longer than the last. A couple of the Whatley brothers bolted like jaguars, hot on the heels of their prey. They sprinted to help one of their own, their footsteps pounding the dock like distant thunder.
Patricia Loving, a freshman at the local K-12 school, scrambled out of the lake, clutching her bathing suit top. It was a white number with scalloped pleats on the bra, the very same one she’d been eyeing in Henry’s Clothing store window for months.
Her momma had asked her what she had planned for summer, like teens in Bethesda didn’t always end up down at Sunny Side Lake. That’s when Patricia mentioned the two-piece bathing suit in Henry’s window, saying it was all she wanted for her birthday and Christmas combined. Patricia’s mom, a self-taught seamstress and tailor, took on a few extra clients each week, burning the midnight oil to finish hems and save up for the perfect fabric. A couple of weeks before, she’d made a trip to the neighboring town and come back with fabric nearly identical to what she’d seen in the store. Wrapping the finished bathing suit in butcher paper, she told Patricia that Henry’s Clothing had run out of bags. The little white lie was worth it to see her daughter’s face light up. She knew Patricia had a soft spot for that Jimmy Whitman boy, and even though money was tight, a brand-new bathing suit was worth the sacrifice.
Now, there was Patricia Loving, on her knees beside Jimmy. He lay on his stomach, a dragonfly hovering by as if wondering if he was in shock. Patricia hesitated to touch him, wanting to grab his face and ask, “What did you do? Are you okay? You just shot your best friend! Are you hurt? Do you like my swimsuit? Did you notice it? What can I do for you? Do you need to be held? Did you notice I shaved my legs? Everyone’s doing it now. Well, except the uncool girls. Would you ever want to go to the Top Hat Drive-In?”
The molasses of time comes to a screechin’ halt. The Whatley brothers haul Andrew Goldstein up to the dock, and now time seems to sprint like a jackrabbit on a hot skillet. He’s in a bad way. Everyone who was swimming has scrambled out of the water, gatherin’ around the dock like moths to a flame. There’s a static charge in the air, humming with tension. Andrew’s been shot in the chest, and he’s losing blood faster than a leaky faucet. He gasps for air, spitting up lake water, his breaths shallow and ragged. One of the brothers rips up a towel and a t-shirt, tryin’ to make a makeshift bandage to staunch the bleeding.
Andrew’s voice comes out low and shaky, his hands trembling, his jaw quivering, eyes darting around like a scared rabbit. He touches his chest, feeling the sodden bandages soaked with blood. He thinks he might pass out. Heck, he thinks he has passed out. Cold sweat breaks out on his brow, and his lips start going numb. The girls who had been swimming just moments ago now cry out in fright, watching Andrew lay there on the dock, fighting for every breath. Two of the boys take off running to fetch an ambulance or Dr. Taylor. Dr. Taylor started out as a vet, but he’s been patching up folks for years now.
Jimmy Whitman and Patricia Loving make their way down to the dock when one of the Whatley brothers hollers that Andrew’s repeating something. He’s talking like his lungs are filled with lead, each word pushing out with a struggle.
Patricia Loving kneels down, caressing Andrew’s face, leaning in close to catch his words.
“Something happens in the water.”
It’s faint, mumbled, but plain as day.
“Some-thing. Ha-Ha-ppens. In. The. The Water. Something happens in the water. Something happens in the water. Something happens in the water. Something happens in the water. Something happens in the water.”
“He’s sayin’ something happens in the water,” Patricia tells the onlookers, her voice quivering.
The Whatley brothers say he’s in shock, talking nonsense from the bullet wound and the shock.
“What about the water, Andrew? What happens in the water?” Patricia now sits to Andrew’s right, holding his hand and patting his chest clean of blood. Andrew tries to speak but ends up coughing on a mixture of lake water and his saliva. Patricia leans in close, her ear nearly touching his lips, straining to catch his words.
The crystal waters shimmer in the quiet as everyone waits, holding their breath. Patricia’s face scrunches up in confusion, maybe even a bit of shock herself.
“He wants us to dunk him in the lake,” she says, her eyes as puzzled as the rest of them.
The Whatley brothers insist on waiting for the ambulance or tying him to the back of someone’s bike to get to Dr. Taylor. It’s Saturday, so Dr. Taylor should be working at the meat market, free from clients and appointments.
“I get that, guys,” Patricia snaps, sharp as a snake bite. “But while we wait for the ambulance, he’s asking us to dunk him back in the water. Just him. He says something happens in the water.”
Her eyes brim with tears, adrenaline coursing through her veins. Jimmy Whitman steps up, his face pale but determined.
“We wait for the ambulance, but we dunk him in while we wait.”
Jimmy and the Whatley brothers carefully lower Andrew Goldstein back into the water, the cool, clear lake lapping around him. The water at this part of the dock is five feet deep.
The crowd of teens sits dockside, etching the details into their memories. They would recall how Patricia Loving asked if anyone wanted to pray while they waited, and how Jimmy Whitman, to everyone’s surprise, agreed to lead them in prayer. They mumbled quietly under their breaths, their thoughts a jumble of fear and hope. If they could hear Jimmy’s real thoughts, they’d hear his desperate plea.
“God, it’s me. Andrew Goldstein can’t die right now. This can’t happen, God. I didn’t mean for this to happen. I was tryin’ to shoot that buck, and I just knew Momma would be happy with all that meat. You know my old man’s been workin’ less these days. Please save Andrew. He’s a good kid. Grades ain’t the best, but he’s a good one, I promise. God, please don’t let him die. I can’t go to jail. I have my whole life ahead of me. I ain’t no killer. I didn’t mean to, God, I swear on Me-Maw Whitman. Maybe I was tryin’ to show off for Patricia. I noticed her new bathing suit. She says she got it at Henry’s Clothing. Momma has the same one. This is a pretty nice girl. As nice as they come. Might be the prettiest girl in Bethesda.”
As they waited, Andrew Goldstein began to lose feeling in his fingertips. But there, as the sun stretched its rays in the sky, admiring its reflection in the crystal gleam of Sunny Side Lake, something did happen in those waters. As his head floated above the water, he felt a warm sensation like wax melting down from the top of his head and slowly dripping down to the nape of his neck. He let his eyes fall shut and focused on his breathing, seeing the brightness beyond the pink, veiny flesh of his eyelids.
“Something happens…” he whispered, inhaling deeply.
The water was still, whispers behind him on the dock. In the distance, a mockingbird called out. Andrew Goldstein sank his toes into the lake bed underwater.
“…in the water,” he exhaled.
The water seemed to get warmer. If someone were swimming next to him, he’d swear they’d peed in the lake and he’d call them out for it so everyone could join in on the laughter. The light just past his closed lids seemed to get brighter. He imagined a stray cloud mistakenly showing up to work on its day off, making its way across the sun. If he opened his eyes, he’d see a clear sky.
That was when he began to shout.
“I can feel the waters!” he exclaimed. “There is power in these waters! I can feel the waters. Something has moved the waters, so I won’t die. I know I won’t. I’m gonna be okay, y’all. I don’t know how the hell I got my ass shot, but I’ve felt the power in the waters.”
The sun shone on Andrew Goldstein as he lay back, floating in the shallow part of the lake. His porcelain skin turned fiery coral under the sun’s rays. Light glimmered off the beads of water forming in the middle indentation of his chest. To the right of that, close to his right shoulder, wine-colored blood stained the cut fabric, bleeding into a crimson red like tie-dye. Patricia Loving had not left his sight. She sat on her knees on the dock, praying.
Dragonflies swarmed to and from the dock and Andrew. Jimmy Whitman watched Patricia. Sirens could be heard in the distance. The sun radiated over the water, making the reflection almost unbearable. He noticed Patricia’s bathing suit. It was covered in blood now. It looked just like the one his mom just bought, except hers was missing the tag that Henry’s Clothing put on all their clothes, even bathing suits.
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