Growing up within the forested confines of what boasted the bluest of blood in the privatest of clubs, half mile from its pride and joy, its world-renown, perfectly kept, ravine-ridden, golf course, had its pros and cons.
None of the cons, mind you, fell on our side. This list would belong to the keepers and members of Shoreacres Country Club, who knew little of the havoc five siblings and their friends and family could wreak.
Not that there were no children in the neighborhood.
There were.
One here.
One there.
Two down that way.
Oddly quiet children. Living rather quiet lives.
We came in like an Italian-Catholic tornado.
Loud.
Unpredictable.
Calamitous.
Spontaneous.
A force of nature which all the nurturing in the world couldn't tame.
Ever seeking refuge from the great indoors of winter, we'd often head out onto the famed course. No destination, just going forward, down the well-plowed road, gritty from salt, bundled well past our noses to keep the icy lake winds from turning our ambitions.
On one particular day, we climbed the piles of crusty, grey snow, pushed in great chunks to the sides of the road, to reach the unmarred snow that blanketed the course; breaking the muffled, wintry silence with our crackling and crunching march down the first fairway.
The drifts almost swallowed Mia and I, who were trying our darnedest to keep up with Jim and Kim, our cousin from Springfield, Illinois. Several years our senior, Kim was a tall, burly fellow, with a lilting voice, a cherubic face and the gentlest of souls. The few times we were able to visit with my mother's kin, the moments with Kim are particularly strong for me.
Further and further our unlikely quartet trudged from home, until we came upon the frozen creek that crossed the course and followed it to two small ponds. Climbing down its banks, Jim slipped and skidded along the edges of the ice, while Mia and I headed over to a large culvert under a small, old, planked bridge
Kim followed, reluctantly, ever vigilant over his temporary wards.
While Jim slid further along the ice, Mia scrambled over the bridge to other side of the culvert, calling for me through the cold and dark and so, I soon found myself answering back, across the frozen water, from the opposite end of the giant, metal tube.
Clear is Kim's silhouette hovering behind Mia like a new mother bear, the stretch of ice between us, and our small voices sounding strong against the corrugated steel. Mia took off one of her mittens and slid it through the tunnel, along the leafy ice, right into my hands.
I tossed it back.
And back it came again.
As Mia's enthusiasm began to fade, I'd stretch to reach a little further into the cold, dark tunnel. Her final, fainthearted toss landed the tiny, snow-caked mitten smack dab in the center of the culvert.
"Whoops," was all she had to say, having already sacrificed the mitten to the creek.
Hoping to avoid a lecture from Mom about another lost mitten, I began a slow crawl toward the center, inching closer and closer to the wooly stray, hearing only my breathing, tinny and low, and Kim’s voice whispering, "Be careful, Annie."
As I reached out to grab the mitten, all sounds ceased.
Except one.
The ice below me popped and cracked and gave way and suddenly I sank, face first, into the water, swallowing it as I gasped for air and opened my shocked eyes to the muddy scene at the mucky bottom of the culvert a foot below. Seconds ticked forever until I felt someone take hold of the hood of my bright pink jacket and yank me from the icy water.
Lying on his stomach at the edge of the ice, Jim had grabbed me while Kim held tight to his feet from solid ground. Before I even had a chance to process what had happened, Kim grabbed me from Jim's arms and started to run toward home. Shock soon gave way to tears, as shivering wracked my tiny, drenched body. He held me tight to his chest, his soft mumblings incomprehensible and inconsolable, but I clung even harder as he plowed through the snow-filled fairways, a mile from home.
Hand in hand with Mia, Jim followed quickly. Silently.
I pressed my head tighter against Kim's heaving chest.
And closed my eyes.
Hearing only his heartbeat and hurried footsteps fumble along the deep snow.
He never seemed to slow until I was safe within the warmth of my home and my mother’s arms and almost broke into tears as he apologized profusely for something only I was to blame.
Even though it was Jim who pulled me from the ice that day (A fact that only recently came to my attention - and by the way, thank you, James.), it was Kim whom I would make my forever hero.
Who broke my heart when he passed away at the age of 42.
How marvelous that forty-five years later, I now have two forever heroes who rescued me that day.
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