The Log 11

The van turned left at a county road, and Jimmy asked Rex to repeat the directions. “Take a right on the third street,” Rex waving his arm in the direction of the wet darkness in front of him.

Jimmy slowed the van, looked quickly around the area in front of them. “Huh. Here close on five years, and ain’t never been up ’round here.”

Nobody comes here unless they have to. But they’d be at his trailer in a few minutes, so Rex knew if he wanted to say what was really on his mind, he needed to start. The slender teen with high cheekbones and poor haircut pointed with his thumb back in the direction of the fallen log they had left behind as he looked over at Jimmy.

“What happened back there — ”

“Was pretty messed up, son.” Jimmy’s jaw clenched again. Rex had worked with Jimmy at fencing practices long enough to know the word son was a warning. Listen. Pay attention. Don’t challenge me. He hadn’t seen Jimmy work with Annie, The Bird, or OK, but Rex suspected that if their new assistant coach wanted them to toe the line, they’d wind up being sons as well.

Rex looked away, back into the black road ahead of them. Headlights caught the eyes of a racoon, a front paw on the pavement; the animal turned quickly, darting back into the woods on the right.

“World’s full of ignorant, scared people.” Jimmy’s voice was soft; Rex continued staring out the windshield. “It’s cause they scared, they stick to what little they know, and because they don’t know that much, that’s what makes them scared. Fear and ignorance, they feed off the other. It don’t make no sense, but I seen how it works too many times to say it ain’t true.”


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s