THE HISTORY LESSON -- WRITERS' BLOCK #24

  THE HISTORY LESSON

It was far too nice of a day to spend in school. So the guys decided to cut school. Of course we headed to the beach, thinking we could scope out the babes. But it turned out that evidently babes do not cut school and go to the beach. Mark, who was the oldest of us and a bit wiser in the ways of babes told  us: "of course they aren’t here, when they cut class they go to the mall". We had no idea if that was true or not, but we all nodded in agreement.

We walked down the beach, enjoying the sun and breeze, jumping in the water to cool off. Finding gross things like boys do and trying to decide what it was, and which find was the grossest. We rated them by looks and smell, though not neccessarily in that order.

Timmy suddenly stopped and stared at a pile of driftwood. Timmy had a habit of stopping and staring at things, he was the nerd of the group. You could hear his mind working on what ever ideas were spinning around in his head.

"Guys!!! Come ‘ere" he said. "Do you remember the lesson in history class yesterday?"

Like who pays attention in history class we all answered in one form or another.

"We can do it!" Timmy exclaimed. "We can built it!"

He got our attention with that statement. No babes in bikinis around so what else do red blooded American boys like to do–Build Things!!

"Build what?" We asked almost in unison if not in harmony.

"Here let me show you!", and with that he bent down with a stick and proceed ed to draw diagrams in the sand and explain to us what it was. Timmy took charge and sent some of us down the beach, to find more drift wood, rope, line, anything that might be of use. The other group he had tear into the drift wood pile and start laying out usable wood.

We pulled and lifted, moved and shoved. Splinters were the norm but we did not care. We had a mission. We tied pieces of wood together with old rope and dried bull kelp. Found rocks for weights, even an old float bouy for a cushion, and an old rusty door hinge for a trigger. Timmy’s creation rose out of the sand, higher, and bigger, larger and taller. Until finally, sweaty hours later, we stood back in amazement at our creation, at Timmy’s creation.

Timmy jumped up on top of the main timber arm, and proceeded to explain what we had done. It sounded like the history class we did not pay any attention to, but we did not care, we cheered, and yelled at Timmy’s speech. The more we cheered, the louder Timmy spoke, the more we yelled the more excited Timmy got, until he was jumping up and down on the main timber.

In mid sentence, and in between cheers we all heard the loud click.

We did not find Timmy at first, just his shoes which had tangled the  laces in the rough wood.

We all agreed though, Timmy could build one heck of a catapult.

 

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