Ribbon in the Snow

Sherrie was trapped in the shallows between a large, half submerged willow branch and the high bank. Alfred was in there after her, leaping about like a playful monkey, flicking water at her and teasing, grabbing at her top, her hair, whatever he could get. He wasn’t really trying to hurt her or anything, but Sherrie began to scream in terror. I was absolutely thrilled. Then her pleading eyes pierced my stupid, vicious heart. Here was an opportunity to be the heroic Jungle Princess. It was only a few steps to the steep bank. Grabbing a root or a branch in one hand, I reached down, offering my arm. She took it and began to haul herself out of Alfred's reach. That was when I did the most malicious thing I ever did to a girl. I wrenched my hand free of hers. Uncomprehending, Sherrie grabbed at my wrist with her other hand. I turned my eyes from her’s and concentrated on her clutching, flying hands. Violently wringing and shaking her wet fingers from my arm, I scrambled back up the bank to watch her shame.

I don't remember what happened after that. I guess the other kids woke from their trance and made Alfred stop. Perhaps Lyn Henderson and the other girls sanctimoniously busied themselves consoling Sherrie. I wasn't sure if they'd seen my treachery. I did want to save Sherrie from that pig, Alfred; but when our hands touched, I’d felt something I hadn’t the maturity to understand. It seemed the only way to express it was to let Alfred degrade and humiliate her. Why then did I feel degraded? Stunned and confused, I picked up my towel and rode home alone.

That happened in June of 1957. I had just turned eleven. I would grow up to do far worse things, things that I'd never have done if I had held tight to Sherrie Jamison's hand that day.