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By Trenton Gilman
Fiction Submission for the Makeshift Review's Writing Contest 2021
Bennet Falls contains a legend which lingers over the town as the mountain mist does on an early spring morning. Before the land had been succeeded by rather ill-equipped tenants, it had been home to the Wapiti tribe. The falls (which they called Kelawala) was their source of life. The stream of water supplies many pools on its way down before carving the landscape of the now bustling city, but one pool contains what many long for but few experience.
Georgey has always had a sense of curiosity and adventure, which his father says came from his mom’s side. He is constantly drawn to the landscape which surrounds his city, and the tales which seem to sing out from the chilling forest wind. Stories of chiefs and spirits, but his favorite stories were those of his mother. Each story Georgey heard felt as if it was, in a strange way, about himself. He had a desire to experience what his mother had experienced, or feel the way the Wapiti felt about the forest and fires and streams.
Georgey had finished his shift at the lumber yard, with achingy hands and swollen knees he drudged back home, clinging to his lunch pail like the last of the yellow leaves do to the birch trees which line his walk home. The guys from work were planning on getting together tonight to play cards at Blake’s place, so Georgey would stop at the drug store before goingetting home. There he ran into an old friend from high school, Clint Beaker. They caught up for a few minutes with Georgey wanting the conversation to end before it started. Clint had always been a little odd, but Georgey had too much good in him to blow him off. As the conversation was wrapping up, Georgey walked with Clint while he put some groceries in the back of his red Chevrolet. Clint looked at Georgey with a shine in his eyes and said, “Here, I want you to have this.” Georgey looked down and knew exactly what that crock jug in Clint’s hands contained. Georgey glanced back up into Clint’s gleaming eyes and asked, “This what I think it is?”
“Yup.” said Clint,
“Got it from some old Wapiti out near Bluff Creek, want you to have it.”
“Do gotta say be careful with that stuff, been hearin’ ‘bout how us cowboys don’t handle it quite like the Natives do.”
Georgey knew the danger, he had experienced it closer than Clint would ever know, but he had to fill that hole of curiosity within him. Georgey thanked Clint for the kindness and made his way back home.
At Blake’s, Georgey had a jar full of Clint’s gift. He couldn’t get it off his mind. All the years he had wanted to try it, and it had just fallen right into his hands. Anxious and fearful, his curiosity took over. He closed his eyes, with his mother on his mind and heart pounding, he drank.
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