by John Davis

Created on: March 14, 2009

Todd, Michael, and Ray lived on the same block, and each was turning twelve that summer. In Ray's tree house one Thursday afternoon, the boys concocted an idea that would change everything.

"Let's go swimming in the pits," Ray suggested.

"The phosphate pits? They're all closed off," Michael said. "Besides, isn't that kind of well, you know, illegal?"

"Only if you don't work there," Ray explained. "And my brother does. That means we can go and do whatever the hell we want." He spit over the tree house rail before continuing: "I was riding around with him last week in his truck, and he shot a gator down there."

"A gator? Why would we want to go swimming there?" Todd fretted.

"It'll be fun. All my cousins go down there, and they haven't been bitten once." Ray's blue eyes relayed mischief. "Trust me."

"Forget it," Todd replied. "You guys are crazy. Count me out."

Ray made clucking noises.

Todd protested, "I am NOT a chicken!"

"Whatever," Michael responded. "Scared of a gator; puh-lease"

"Whoever heard of such? Your Daddyd be ashamed," Ray added.

After a few more goading insults, Todd was convinced to come along.

"But I'm packing my knife just in case," he stipulated.

The boys arrived at the pits south of town to find the mine gate locked and posted: "No Trespassing - Violators Prosecuted." Propping their bikes' handlebars around the sign, they hopped over the gate.

"Straight through this way," Ray whispered, pointing.

The path was littered with spent shotgun shells, snuff cans, and old bottles. At the clearing, the pits were hidden among the few remaining trees that the draglines had missed. Old men came to fish, and young couples came to escape. The mine officials knew about all of it, but did nothing. The pits comprised one place that fell outside society's rules.

Michael took off his shirt, observing, "Well, there it is. Might as well dive in."

"Suppose so," Ray concurred, popping his untied high-tops off his feet.

"How do we get in there?" Todd inquired, concern crossing his eyebrows.

"We jump, stupid," Michael shot back. "No sense in coming to the pits if you ain't gonna jump, for pete's sake."

In Big Poplar, pit-jumping was a time-honored rite of passage, and those who didn't take the plunge were alienated even as adults. Ray, Michael, and Todd pondered their futures as they stood on the precipice overhanging those abandoned phosphate pits. Ray was still wearing his sleeveless basketball jersey. His bare toes curled over the earthy ridge, and his legs flexed beneath his cut-off

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