by Rick Lenz
Dixie was a gutsy kid. He wasn’t scared of anybody. I liked that about him. It made me feel gutsy, too; confident, just like Dixie.
As I reached the lake, he backed up a few steps. The boys, standing shoulder deep in the water, continued to goad him.
I felt something leaden in the pit of my stomach. I ran out onto the dock, yelling, “Dixie! Don’t!”
But by then he was sprinting full tilt toward the water. He threw himself off, head first, launching himself into an awkward jackknife dive.
He seemed to hang in the air forever.
He hung on in the hospital for a week before he died. I never saw him again.
The boys had been standing on their knees.
* * *
Whatever punishment they got came from their parents. However much it was, it was surely not as much as they’ve had to live with their whole lives.
I should have seen what might happen to him before I did. I didn’t feel guilty—not exactly. I suppose the right word is angry. I was older than Dixie. I’d been swimming at that park before. I knew how shallow the water was. I shouldn’t have let it happen.
For a while, I tried to shut him out of my mind, to forget he’d ever existed. But it didn’t work. In a sense, I’ve seen him grow up. At every crossroad of my life, I’ve imagined the benchmark moments that never happened to Dixie. In some small way it feels as if I’ve looked at the world through Dixie’s eyes.
About twenty years ago, the anger started to fade. At the same time, I feel Dixie’s presence more than ever. He doesn’t speak to me, but he has quietly forgiven me.
Maybe guilt is the right word.
Anyway, whenever I do something that feels like it’s the decent thing to do, or the kind thing, he sort of pats me on the back. It’s hard to explain.
Darkness.
Every theatre goes dark sometime. There are always other stages, other shows.
Not for Dixie.
Table of Contents
Praise for North of Hollywood
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EPILOGUE
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Meet the Author
More from Rick Lenz