THE CONTEST
You could hear the crack of glass on glass as the aggie flew
from the boy's fingers and struck the marbles, sending them off in different
directions.
"Ha! I
won!" cried the boy.
"It wasn't a fair shoot!" said the opponent moodily.
"It was too, and you know it, Jamie Gregg!"
"Was not," Jamie said quietly so Steve wouldn't
hear. Steve being a year older and three
inches taller, Jamie was careful not to make him angry. Twice already that summer Steve had laid into
Jamie with a vengeance for something phrased wrong.
"Well, I won and I get to keep the marbles. "
Steve said arrogantly, daring Jamie to argue.
"You can't keep the marbles. They're mine.
They were a present from my brother, David. He'd get mad if I lost them." Just thinking of what would happen to him if
he didn't bring home those marbles made him pale. They weren't a present, just David's, taken
while David was away at camp.
"That's too bad, wuss.
They're mine and I'm gonna keep 'em."
"Whattaya say we have a contest for them?"
"A contest? What
kind of contest?"
"You know, the kind where you see who's the best at
everything kind of like the Olympics."
"The Olympics, huh?" Being three inches taller and having a good
twenty pounds on Jamie, Steve felt pretty sure of chances for winning just
about any physical contest. "Sure,
okay. We'll have a contest."
"Okay. So,
whattaya want to do first?"
"First, we'll see who can throw the farthest."
"Yeah, and then we'll see who can spit the farthest and
then who can run the fastest."
:And who can hold their breath the longest!"
"All right!
Let's start."
They began with throwing rocks. Jamie won that one. His brother, David, was the star pitcher for
the high school and had been coaching Jamie before he left for camp. Next was spitting; Steve won that event. He had studied the way his grandfather spit
tobacco.
At the halfway point in their mini-Olympics, the boys were
tied one to one. They began the second
half. They ran from the market on the corner
to the end of the street by old Mrs Sanders' house. Jamie won that one too. Steve wasn't as used to his newly-long legs
as Jamie was to his old short ones.
"We might as well say I won, Steve. Two out of three. There ain't no way you can beat that."
"I can tie you, though.
And then we'll have to do something else."
"Okay. But I bet
you can't do it."
So air was sucked in and held trapped in cheeks that became
red from the effort. Ten seconds…fifteen
seconds…thirty…forty…forty-five…Jamie exhaled suddenly and gasped for air.
Steve's breath exploded in laughter. "I told you! I told you!
It's a tie. Now we got to think
up something else."
"I don't know, Steve.
It's getting late. My mom's
expecting me home soon."
"I know! We can
throw houses!"
"Come on. Not
that. That's messing with somebody
else's stuff and that's not right."
Jamie was reluctant because the last time it is was Brian Weston
throwing with Steve, and the sheriff found out.
He told Brian's folks, and Brian's was grounded for the rest of the
summer.
"All right, chicken.
We'll just say I won then, and I'll keep the marbles."
"Okay, okay.
We'll throw houses." Jamie
looked around to make sure no one was around to tell on them.
"You go first, since you're so chicken."
So Jamie chose a house.
He found a good handhold so he could get just enough leverage, braced
himself, and heaved upwards as hard as he could. He watched as the house landed just a few
feet from where he was standing.
"My turn, wuss.
Steve walked to the house he had chosen and hoisted a corner. Like Jamie, he braced himself and
heaved. This time the house flew through
the air.
"I won! I
won!" Steve crowed triumphantly as
the house pitched end over end, obviously going farther than Jamie's had
gone. "The marbles are
mine!"
Even as he gloated, though, Steve's eyes grew wide with
horror as he watched the house land on his prize, the coveted marbles, and they
heard the audible crunch of crushing glass.
Moral: Those with glass stones shouldn't throw
houses.
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