The ramp to the upper barn door was steep. The dirt was packed hard and even. The ramp had been there forever, at least as long as I could remember. It stood high and menacing, rising into the massive storage barn. Mom was clear that I should stay away from the place or I'd be sorry. "Jonathan Franklin Smith, you don’t go near that place. It’s dangerous. I forbid it. Are you listening to me?"
... a small boy with an appetite for adventure and a small wagon...
"Yes ma’am," I hated when she used my full name. I didn’t like people calling me "John" either, and the worst of all was when people used "Johnny". They always sounded like they were saying "John-nee" which to my mind sounded too much like baby. And that’s how I felt everyone was treating me all the time; like a little baby who couldn’t do anything.
Dad was more to the point. On the subject of the barn's loading ramp his chief contribution to the discussion was, "Don't."
The loading ramp however, had a more magnetic attraction. It loomed large in the physical world and likewise figured large in the imagination of a small boy with an appetite for adventure and a small wagon. The older boys on the farm were of no assistance in curbing my enthusiasm. Quite the opposite really. They told stories of their daring adventures on it's slopes. Making the hard climb during the hot summer mornings pushing their bikes or pulling their wagons behind them. Careening down the near forty-five degree angle incline at break neck speeds. Wind in their hair, sun on their face, fear and exhilaration married as one. They made it sound as though heaven and earth held no meaning unless you made the trip yourself. I would have been fine. Satisfied with my lot. Happy to remain a spectator. That is until the taunting started.
Bill was a year older than me and newly pledged to the company of boys on the farm that I wanted so desperately to be a part of. Before that time he and I had been playmates at my house, watched by my mother who was the official unofficial day care provider for the youngest kids on the farm. Bill and I were the best of friends, and we did everything together. Then Bill turned six and all of that friendship ceased. At the age of six a kid on the farm was pretty much allowed to roam as they saw fit. They no longer had to be watched closely, and it was expected that the older kids would take care of them. No one wanted to hang around with the baby. I did not turn six until the spring and had to spend my time in my own company, eagerly waiting for my chance to be both free of my mom's apron strings and in the company of friends once more. By summer I was eagerly trailing after the older boys, trying to fit in. Undertaking any test that would prove my worth.
"You can't do it squirt, it would kill you." said Bill.
"Ya," added Jason. "Your mom would spank your bum red if you tried. That's what happens to babies." I didn't like Jason, and for some reason he didn't like me. He reveled in taunting me at any opportunity.
"Would not! And I'm not a baby" I replied fiercely, knowing that if mom did find out, there would be a tanning.
Robert, The oldest boy and leader, stood silent.
"Besides, you'd be too scared." said Bill.
Scared. Now that was a true, but the real question was would I be scared of actually making the trip, or scared of not making the plunge and suffering the taunts all summer long. The taunts, as I knew well, could be merciless.
In the winter I was playing outside in my front yard building a snow fort. Dad had plowed that morning and left huge piles of snow at both sides of the end of the driveway. Piles like this were perfect to build snow forts out of. Most of the work was already done for you and all you needed to finish the job was to dig a hole in the middle of the pile and make snow balls to stock the icy armory. Bill and Jason wandered by and started to build their forts and after about an hour of engineering and fussing a three way snowball fight had begun. I was having fun. I felt important that this fun was happening at my house. I felt ten feet tall that I was only five, and I was playing with the older boys.
Jason tried to out flank my fort by sneaking up on my through the drainage ditch at the side of where the road and my driveway met. He crouched low and try as I might to hit him with snowballs I couldn't find the mark. He was too well concealed. Bill ran across the driveway and made a sneak attack on Jason's position. Bill stood on the driveway overlooking the ditch and rained snowy destruction down on Jason.
"Hey stop it!" yelled Jason
"Make me." said Bill.
"No I mean it, besides I need you to come look at this." Bill jumped down and out of sight into the ditch with Jason. I knew they were talking but I couldn't make out what they were saying. Then the tow of them came out in plain view and I launched a couple of snowballs at them.
"Quit it," said Bill
"It's a truce," said Jason.
"How can I trust you?" I asked.
"Just cut it out and get over here," came Bill's reply.
I scurried over the top of my snow fort wall and went to join the other two boys at the edge of the ditch.
"I lost something," said Jason. "I think it's in the culvert."
"What is it" I asked.
"Something important. I need you to go in and look for it."
"Why me? Why don't you look for it?"
"Bill and I are too big to fit. Your the only one who can." It sounded a little fishy to me, but they were right about me being the smallest. Jason was older than Bill and taller. Bill was heavyset and too squat. Of the three I was the smallest.
"A real pal would help" said Jason.
I don't know why I decided to help. Maybe the prospect of being a real pal was too good to pass up. I jumped down into the ditch and looked into the long culvert that ran under the driveway.
"I don't see anything," I said.
"You have to go in farther."
I crawled a little further into the culvert. I couldn't see anything other than snow and the light of the other end of the tunnel.
"What did you lose Jason? What am I supposed to be looking for?"
"Oh I don't know," said Jason mockingly. "Maybe you lost the way out!"
At that instant I heard a the sound of snow crunching on snow, as Jason pushed a large ball of snow in front of the culvert entrance behind me. I started to crawl forward towards the light of the other side of the tunnel but by the time I reached the other side I could see the large snowball drop into place blocking the exit. I was trapped. The tunnel was much darker, only a faint glow of light through the snow that was blocking my way. I could hear the laughter of Jason and Bill muffled through the snow. I was angry. The red hot kind that only comes with betrayal. I pushed against the boulder of snow blocking my path. I beat on it with my fists. It didn't budge. I remained completely immovable to my small hands. Anger and frustration started to give way to fear. Fear of being trapped, fear of being encased in a snowy grave, fear closing in all around me.
"Let me out!" I screamed. More laughter from the outside. "Let me out or I'm telling!" Telling, now there's a thought. Who would I tell trapped in this tube of metal and snow? Suddenly the thought of never being able to see my mom again heightened the fear to a new level.
"LET ME OUT!" I sobbed, tears running down my checks until they froze in place.
"What's the magic word?" came Bill's reply.
"How much will you pay us?" said Jason.
My sobs were heavier now and my pleas for freedom were drowned out by the crying. I was a six year old bundle of tears and emotions. I could not make out what was going on outside my prison. I was too distraught and consumed by my own fear to realize that something was going on. Perhaps the boys took pity on me, perhaps they were tired of tormenting me, but after what seemed like an eternity the boulder in front of me was rolled away and I could crawl out into the light. The sky was blue and clear. I never thought I'd see the sky again. I was sobbing, my eyes stung from tears. I stood up in the ditch. Up on the driveway I saw Bill and Jason, still giggling. They had been joined by Robert. He looked down at me with a kind of hopeless pity and as I stood there in front of them a new emotion started to grow- embarrassment.
"Leave the kid alone," he said to Bill and Jason.
"Ya, let's leave the baby by himself." sneered Jason. Bill, once my best friend, said nothing he just giggled. I watched them leave across the road towards the main farm house. As they left the three were engaged deeply in the retelling of the joke to Robert. I was left standing in the middle of the driveway of my house crying, hurt and alone.
I knew about scared, scared was easy. I couldn't tell what I was scared more of though, making the climb to the top of the ramp with the guys I wanted to be a part of, or scared of not doing it and the ridicule that would follow.
"I'm not scared." I found myself saying. Bill and Jason broke into howls of laughter and taunts. I was getting steamed now. Anger and hurt feelings were mixing into a Molotov cocktail of six year old rage which could only lead to two possible outcomes; fists or tears. I knew that taking on Bill or Jason or both in a fight was a loosing proposition from the start. They both had age and weight on me. A fight was not a real option unless I was prepared to get clobbered. Tears were definitely not an option. Tears would simply reinforce their already low opinion of me. I would forever be the baby to them. An outcast from the group and to me that would have been a complete disaster. Worse than having to play with my little sister while mom did the laundry. But disaster or no, I sensed that tears were on their way and I clenched my fists in preparation for the beating I was going to receive. Between tears and bruises, I'd settle for the bruises first.
"If the kid wants to try," said Robert "then let him. It's his funeral."
With those words the laughing stopped. The howls evaporated. The word of Robert was the law to us all. I was going to get my chance at the ramp. Now a new feeling of dread started to creep in. Fear of getting what you want. Sometimes getting what you want isn't as good as you thought it was going to be once you get it. Sure the thing your after looks all shiny and bright when you don't have it. When you finally get a hold of it though, it can sometimes reveal things you hadn't even stopped to consider during the wanting. It's only during the having that we stop to consider the ramifications. I was actually going to have to ride my wagon down the barn ramp. The enormity of this thought planted the seed of fear. A seed that germinated quickly in the fields of my young mind, and was fertilized with every step towards the barn my friends and I took. We reached the base of the ramp. Four adventurers preparing for the ascent.
Each boy had their own particular descent vehicle. Jason and Bill both had wagons, Robert had a shiny red CCM bike that was the envy of all of us. If we imagined hard enough, that bike was a motorcycle, and Robert was the circus daredevil that we all aspired too. He could pop wheelies, ride with "no hands" and dismount with a flying kick like the cowboys did in the westerns on TV. Robert was the bravest of us all. His skill on wheels was something I aspired to. My mode of transport was also a wagon, but unlike the flashy new Radio Flyer Wagons that Bill and Jason pulled, sleek and shiny, mine was a relic of another age. Mine was a wagon made of steel. A wagon rescued from the cellar of my grandmother's house where it had been pressed into service as a carrier of flower pots and gardening soil. It had been my father's some twenty years earlier and it had once been as grand as the ones in the window of the hardware store in town. It was not grand anymore. It was rusty under the pealing gray paint. At one time it had been a marvelous fire engine red, but now the only red was the bits of crumble that frequently flaked off the sides and bottom of the body. The left rear corner was the worst and a small hole had developed that I could stick my thumb through. The wheels were large and most of the rubber had worn off leaving no treads of any kind. What rubber that was left was hard and cracked. As you pulled the wagon there was a slight but distinct wobble and the sound of metal rubbing on metal as the wheels turned on their axles. The handle was a home made replacement. The original metal handle had completely rusted through and Dad had to make a new one out of an old broom handle and a block of wood. It worked well enough, I was still able to steer the wagon with this new handle, but the modifications made the wagon drift slightly to the right as I pulled it and I always had to make adjustments to my direction to keep it in a straight line. I was glad enough when Mom and Dad brought the wagon home for me. Before I had it, I had nothing. With this wagon such as it was, and a healthy does of imagination it became at one time or another, a pirate ship, an airplane, and a space capsule landing in the pacific ocean. Today this wagon and I would be attempting a landing of another sort. It was not the best wagon for the task ahead, but it was all that I had, and I would just have to make the best of it.
I looked up to the top of the massive ramp from where I stood at the base. The top looked far away. The ramp was just wider than a truck and it rose to a dizzying height to the loft entrance of the barn. To the left as you walked up were two tiers of loading docks that jutted out perpendicular to the main ramp for about ten feet. The lower dock was at the level of a flat hay wagon, The upper dock was at least three feet higher and used to load the trucks coming to the farm. From the loading docks at the bottom, the ramp extended another thirty feet up to the doors of the barn's loft. Robert looked around to make sure the coast was clear. We were not supposed to play around the main barn and the farm machinery. The foreman would chase us away whenever he saw us, but he was a busy man and we were persistent boys. The odds were always in our favour, at least for awhile, of being uninterrupted. Satisfied that everything was in order. Robert motioned us to proceed and the climb commenced.
I had not realized how heavy my wagon really was. I pulled hard to drag it up that slope but it was not in the mood to cooperate or make my task ant easier. The wheels rattled and wobbled, and I got a sliver from the wooden handle. Normally I would have dropped everything to care for the wound, but three quarters of the way up the ramp dropping the wagon's handle would have sent it crashing to the ground. The ridicule would have been unending, so I tried my best to ignore the pain and continued on the last quarter of the ramp until I reached my goal. At the top of the ramp the road way disappeared directly into the wall of the barn. There was no platform, there was no flat space to set up for the descent downward. On the great door to the loft there was a chain and two giant ring handles. In order to maintain your position, and get ready for the start, you had to hang onto one of these, and hang on I did. If I thought the ramp was imposing from the ground, It was doubly so from this altitude. I hung on for dear life itself. I was terrified and elated. Fearful that at any moment I could tumble and roll down the ramp like an avalanche and the fearful recesses of my mind where in full gear imagining what that pain would feel like. On the other hand from this height you could see all points of the farm around. The wheat field golden and shiny to the north, the still green stalks of corn to the north east. To the west I could see my house and the brightly coloured laundry that my Mom was hanging on the line. It felt odd that I could see from up here. I was more than glad that she, in turn, could not see me. What I remember most is the absolutely clear blue sky. Not a cloud over head. The Sun was a brilliant orb of gold shining down upon us. It felt warm and calming as I stood at the precipice, one hand holding the door chain and one hand clutching the handle of my wagon. For a brief second it was peaceful, and then it wasn't.
"Who's going first?" asked Bill. I looked at him and saw that he was just as scared as I was.
"You go first," said Jason to Bill. "Let's see what you can do." Jason also seemed a little on edge.
"I'm not going first, no way." said Bill. "Why don't you go?"
"Not me," said Jason. "I want to watch the first guy go."
We all stood there holding on to the barn door. Looking at the long ramp ahead of us. no one moved.
"Haven't you guys done this before?" I asked. Neither Jason nor Bill answered, but I could tell from their worried expressions that they hadn't.
"Nope." said Robert. "No body's done this except me."
"Then who's going first then?" I asked.
"I figure you go first Johnny," he replied "besides, you're the one that wanted to prove something. Show us what you've got." Jason and Bill immediately jumped in with their approval of Robert's plan.
I looked at the three of them and knew immediately that refusal was not an option. I was resigned to be the first sacrifice to the ramp. holding onto the chain, I positioned the wagon with my free hand, making it ready for the trip downward. Still holding the chain, now with a greater sense of urgency, I sat down in the wagon. My feet forward, wooden handle of the rickety old wagon grasped firmly in one hand, the barn door chain, the only thing holding me in place, grasped tightly in the other. I looked down the ramp and sensed that the height had somehow become much taller than I had thought, or perhaps I had simply become much smaller. In any even, my impending descent seemed an order of magnitude more frightening now that I was in place and ready to go. I could feel my heart pounding faster. my hands grew clammy and my forehead was sweating a great deal more than the heat of the day called for.
"Hold on until I say go." said Robert. "We don't want you smacking into any tractors or cars." The dirt road at the bottom of the ramp was virtually empty. There was a single motorcycle coming in from the east. coming in from the cattle barn on the other side of the farm, coming in fast.
"Wait for it Johnny. If you go too soon you'll hit that guy. Boy wouldn't that be a mess".
My hands were positively soaking with sweat. I was nervous as hell. There were too many things to think about: hitting motorcycles, old wagons, ramps bigger than I thought, my impending doom. I was quickly leaving nervous and approaching frantic. At that moment, without warning. several links of the chain slipped through my wet hand.
"Johnny wait!"
Then a couple more slipped. The wagon lurched forward. Before I knew what was happening the ride had begun. I looked back to the horror on the boys faces as the chain hit the barn door, my hand still clenched in a fist that had once held it. I swung around quickly and gripped the wagons handle tightly with both hands. I was gaining speed rapidly. The wagon shook and rattled as it bounced down the hard packed dirt ramp. At times The only part of me that was in contact with my wagon was my hands. On several of the bumps I was flying through the air, plummeting headlong down the ramp as an entirely separate object. Control of the hurtling wagon was barely possible. It seemed to have a mind of its own, always trying to pull to the right side of the ramp. It was all I could do to keep it straight. If I kept my course true I would zip across the road at the base of the ramp and over into the yard where the combine harvesters were parked. Eventually the wagon would come to a stop, even if I had to hit something to do it. Hit something. In the panic of the accidental launch, I 'd forgotten about the motorcycle. I quickly scanned to the right. and there was the motorcycle speeding towards the same piece of road I was heading for. A quick panicked mental calculation on my part indicated that we were going to intersect each other at right angles. I don't now how I came to that conclusion, it certainly wasn't from any math I'd learned in school. We had barley covered addition. It was more like a gut feeling. A gut feeling that no matter what I did, the motorcycle, the wagon and myself where destined to be one in an impending speedy disaster.
I was hurtling toward my doom. I was frozen in fear. griping the wagon's handle as tightly as I could unable, in my panic, to alter my path. I wondered what it was going to feel like. What twisted metal and small boy parts were going to look like all jumbled together at the base of that stupid ramp. I had so desperately wanted to be a part of this group of boys; to be in the gang. So desperate in fact that I was willing to do just about anything to fit it. Well this particular anything was going to be expensive. I was convinced that I was going to pay for admission to the group with my life doing this stunt. Maybe Dad could have been a little more descriptive of the consequences and I would have heeded his words. But there were no words, there was just the one word - "Don't". Suddenly "Don't" made perfect sense to me now. Unfortunately it should have made sense to me before I wanted to try this little adventure. It was too late to do anything about it, I was going to my end but I realized that Dad had been right. Just before I reached the level of the ramp where the loading docks jutted out my situation worsened considerably. The wooden broom stick that was the wagon's handle snapped in two. I looked shocked and aghast as I held the broken controls in my hands. I was now racing towards doom with the added bonus of being completely out of control. My mouth formed a scream, but nothing came out. The terror was to great to allow the air in my lungs to escape.
With no restraint on the wagon's control, it lurched sharply to the right. I released the remnants of the handle and it clattered behind me on the ramp. I clutched desperately to the sides of the wagon which was now swerving and careening even more wildly than before the handle broke. I held on for dear life. On the plus side, I was no longer heading towards the road and certain collision with the motorcycle. On the minus side the wagon now had a mind of it's own and I was heading with abandon towards the upper loading dock. This was good news for the rider of the motorcycle, but for me doom loomed ever larger. The wagon hit the loading dock with full speed and seemed not to slow down even though the ground had leveled. Surprisingly, I had given absolutely no thought of abandoning my four wheeled craft. Perhaps if I lived through this I would reflect back upon it and think that a noble captain always goes down with his ship. The truth however, is that reflection often masks the real facts. Terror glued me to my fate. I couldn't have let go it I'd wanted to. With a loud thump the wagon hit the edge of the loading dock and was airborne. We must have sailed a good couple of yards. The impact with the edge of the upper dock did not seem to reduce the speed much, but it did manage to take out the rear right wheel of the wagon. When the wagon and I hit the top of the lower loading dock, the brace that had held the right wheel dug in and started to drag, slowing us down a little while starting to turn the wagon so the back end started to fish tail. The sound of the scraping metal on the asphalt surface of the dock was jarring. The wagon was slowing. I could feel it, but it was no slowing enough. With a second loud thump we hit the edge of the lower loading dock, wagon and boy tumbled over the side towards the ground. I fell in slow motion, hurtling towards the earth, watching in horror as the ground rose to meet me. Somehow I was turned over so that my face was towards the sky - beautiful blue cloudless sky. As far as my eyes could see there was blue and nothing but blue to the outer horizon of my vision. Then came a dull thump. Then came the blackness.
"Hey kid... Kid. You alive kid?"
I woke up with a sudden realization that I was in a fair amount of pain. There wasn't a part of me that did not register some kind of ache. My first site was on a man wearing a dusty leather jacket and a pair of goggles. I assumed this was the motorcycle rider that I'd managed to miss by loosing control of my wagon. I lay still on my back because the less I moved, the less I hurt. I blinked trying to get accustomed to the light of the sun shining in my eyes.
"What happened?" I asked.
"You took a little flight," came the reply with a chuckle. "Did you think you were a bird or something? Can you Move?"
I wiggled my toes and fingers. and very carefully raised my self up into a sitting position. I looked myself over. I was cut and scraped over my arms and legs. My pants and shirt were ripped in several places I was bleeding a little from my knees and elbows, but for the most part I was in one piece. In front of me was the wagon. I traveled a little rather away from the loading dock when I was thrown clear. It was in a tangled mess on the ground. The metal body was ripped and twisted and at least two more wheels were missing. The last remaining wheel was still spinning on it's axle as the wagon lay there. I watched the wheel spin slower and slower round and round until it finally stopped all movement, it's version of death. The wagon was no more.
"I think so", I finally said to the motorcycle rider.
"What the Hell were you thinking about ya crazy kid?" came and older. much angrier voice from behind me. I turned around to see who it was. It was the farm foreman. Behind him stood Robert Jason and Bill, looking very frightened. "I told you boys not to play around here. When I tell your parents you are all going to catch hell."
He had seen us from the Foreman's office and came running out when I started my accidental journey. I hadn't seen him. I had other things to pay attention to, but he managed to prevent any of the other boys from following my example and made them walk down the ramp.
"Easy Frank." said the motorcycle rider "No need to rant. Everyone seems OK. You OK kid?"
"I think so. I'm kind of sore."
"I'd be surprised if you weren't, you're not going to cry now are you kid?"
I thought about it for a minute. I probably should cry, but I was just very pleased to still be in one piece. The thought was very far from my mind, and when I considered it for a minute I didn't feel like it at all.
"No" I said.
"You're OK kid, what's your name?"
"John." I said "but everyone calls me Johnny"
"No kid," he replied. "Anybody pulls a stunt like this can't be a Johnny. A stunt like this deserves a better name than that. Let's see." He paused in thought for a second and a smile came across his face. "A stunt like that is something a Jack would do. So from now on kid, you're Jack."
Jack, I could live with that.
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