"Dad, why did they call you 'Suds' in high school?"
The question was innocent enough. I felt gratified that, at fourteen, Bobby still took an interest in his old man. He held a tight grip on a box marked "Passages." My old high school yearbooks. I thought he'd been gone a little too long. The sun was overpowering, and Bobby's shirt was coated with a grimy film of sweat and attic dust. I looked down at my own khaki shorts and the T-shirt I got for running in last year's Wellsville Jubilee 10K race. They mirrored Bobby's filth.
"Throw that in the moving van and I'll get us some of mom's lemonade and tell you the story."
Bobby's face lit with the beaming smile that only manifests itself in the young. I don't know if he was just happy to get a break, or if he was genuinely excited to hear my little tale. I needed a minute to think while I grabbed the refreshments. I'd always told my son to be honest with me no matter what, and I'd always tried to reciprocate that trust. But I was still hanging on to the tenuous thread of being my son's hero, even though each day it seemed I was becoming less almighty and more human in his eyes. If I told him the whole truth, that thread might unravel completely. So I compromised. We sat on the porch and I spun a yarn about how we'd filled up someone's swimming pool with bubbles and how we'd been caught and punished. It was true but far from complete. All the while I talked my mind couldn't help but to fixate on the full story .
We had just moved to Wellsville in June, after school let out in Pittsburgh. I had always been shy, and I felt like even more of an oddball now, surrounded by Southerners with their strange sayings and funny accents. My one saving grace was my ability to play sports, and it quickly became apparent that the good people of Wellsville worshipped two things - God and football, and not always in that order. I lifted weights in our basement and ran every day in that sticky summer air, determined that I would amount to something in my Junior year at this new school. I made the team, starting at linebacker and tight end. It was after our final practice before school was to commence when our quarterback, Dave Riley, approached me.
"Hey, a bunch of us are going to Jenny Borden's tonight to swim. Her parents are out of town and her brother's in charge, but he's cool. You ought to come over."
"Sure. That'd be great." I knew they didn't get many new kids in this little town, and it surprised me to be accepted so soon.
"Need directions?"
"Nah. I know where it is." Did I ever. I had seen Jenny at least a dozen times in person and about a hundred more in my mind. She had been out mowing one day when I passed on a training run. She wore tight little shorts and a halter top. She had golden brown hair and a matching tan, sweet soft green eyes and a beautiful easy smile. Let's just say I always included her house on my running route after the first time she flashed that smile in my direction.
I had no problem borrowing dad's car that night. My parents seemed genuinely happy I was finally making friends. I didn't know what time to show up, so I drove past Jenny's house four times at fifteen minute intervals until there were a few cars parked in front of the house just as the sun was setting. I had no sooner walked around back to the pool when Dave gave me a big slobbery bear hug and handed me a Budweiser.
"Hey! New guy's here!" He reminded of my uncles at weddings when they drank too much and got way too loud. I had tasted beer before and hated it, but a quick glance around told me everyone was drinking. There were maybe ten players from the football team, a couple guys and several girls I didn't know, Jenny and a few other girls I recognized from the cheerleading squad that came to some of our practices. There was a lot of laughing and somebody was dumping jugs of milky liquid into the pool.
The water felt great. It turned out that the liquid was some sort of bubble bath. We soon churned up a layer of foam over a foot thick on the pool. I was on my third Bud and feeling as light as the foam. I had a vague feeling that everyone else was whispering something to each other when Jenny approached.
"Evan, honey, would you mind going inside and checking the fridge and see if there's any more beer?" Her voice dripped sweetness, and her cute Southern accent was turned up several notches.
I was about to comment that there was still a cooler full of beer sitting poolside, but she had called me "honey." It was probably just a Southern thing - the waitress at the diner always called me "honey" too - but I wasn't going to contradict a sentence like that. When I returned to the pool beerless after a furtive search, everyone was in the water with only their heads popping out of the foam. They all seemed to be staring at me.
"Uh. There wasn't any beer in there but I think there's some left in the cooler." Why were they all staring at me like that?
Jenny spoke first. "Just get in the pool, silly."
There were a few snickers. I stripped down to my swim trunks and positoned for a cannonball entry.
"One more, Evan." Jenny's voice was taunting and sexy this time. There were some more titters and chuckles.
I was momentarily confused, and then the truth dawned on me. I hadn't noticed before because of all the other clothes and towels strewn around the pool. There were bathing suits and bikinis haphazardly cast on the cement.
"Take it off! Take it off!" The guys were leading the cheer.
I froze. I really didn't have a choice. If I was going to do this, at least I would do it with dignity. I took off my shorts, stood buck naked to the sky and executed a perfect cannonball, sending foam flying twenty feet out of the pool. The uproar that followed didn't seem quite right somehow. The girls were giggling, the guys were almost crying with laughter. It was so loud it almost drowned out the Lynyrd Skynyrd pouring from the speakers. Almost as abruptly as it erupted, the bellowing stopped. Standing poolside, staring down at an empty beer bottle were our red -faced local sheriff and deputy.
"Out of the pool. Now!" The sheriff didn't sound happy.
"We've had several noise complaints," the deputy added, as if any of us would have had the nerve to object to their presence.
Jenny was first to the ladder. I must confess to staring a little as she climbed out of the water. Scared as I was, there was no reason not to take advantage of this situation. Then she emerged, wearing a one piece floral swimsuit! One by one, the others filed out, sheepishly but clothed. I was the only one left in the water, and I just wanted to hide.
"Get out of the water, boy!"
I had no choice. I crept up the ladder with one hand and cupped my privates in the other.
"What in tarnation! Get some clothes on, boy." The sheriff was shaking his head as if I was the biggest fool he'd ever seen, and I was feeling that he might be right. No one was laughing.
"He ain't wearing nothin' but suds, sheriff." At least the deputy found this amusing.
For several awkward moments, I searched frantically for my shorts. Finally, Jenny handed me a towel. She was looking in my eyes.
"It was just 'sposed to be an initiation thing. I'm sorry," she mouthed. I could tell from her furrowed brow that she meant it.
It wasn't until the next day, when we were cleaning up the mess as phase one of our punishment, that anyone laughed about it. Dave's impression of the deputy was nearly perfect.
"He ain't wearing nothin' but suds, sheriff."
Even I had to laugh, a little anyway. I made seventeen tackles in one game that year, but nobody remembers that. They all seem to remember wildly embellished versions of how I got the nickname "Suds." Jenny has since returned the favor by letting me see her in the altogether many times, which is only natural since she is now my wife. Bobby seemed satisfied with the version of the story I gave him. We got the truck loaded up and moved to our new house. It's a nice old two story with a wooded lot. It doesn't have a swimming pool.