Green and Blood Red and Slimy

In 1971 things changed forever at the Carson household. One day at the end of June, we kids sat on the balcony looking westward across the bay, watching intently for a station wagon. 

 At least logic told us it would be a station wagon. What few taxis we had on the island were always station wagons – without the ‘taxi’ sign we have mounted on the roof here in the states.
 

We sat excitedly awaiting that taxi, training our eyes on that far away spot where the road cured around the sharp bend in our road. From there it ran along the point, a cliff above and steep, dropping bluff below. Out on the east end of the island where we lived, cars were few and far between coming around that bend. And our hopes soared with each car that rounded it.

For today Daddy was coming home. And with him he would be bringing his new bride and her two kids – our new step-sister and step-brother. We were so thrilled; eager to see what our new step-brother would look like, as we’d already met the girl, Blythe. 

Blythe was beautiful, self-assured and decisive, and was three years older than me. What would Cameron be like?

When we finally sighted that station wagon, we jumped up and ran, pushing and shoving to be first through the door into the house. Then we ran through the courtyard, out the gate into the carport and out onto the grey gravel drive, only wincing a little at the sharp rocks beneath our bare feet. It took a good ten minutes for the taxi to make its way around the bay, past the golf course and the pond, and then up the hill of our red clay drive. 

Finally it pulled to a stop, crunching on the grey gravel, and my dad got out and held the door for his bride, Marilyn.


Then Blythe stepped out like a princess from her coach.  She was followed by a scowling Cameron, who was a year younger than me. 

He had straight, shiny brown hair with streaks of gold, and freckles across his face, and the angriest look I’d ever seen on a child.

So the change began.


Beautiful, slender Blythe, with her olive skin, wavy dark brown hair, long waist and curves was stunning. 

 She apparently very special as she was given the right to completely redecorate a room of her own – something previously unheard of in our family of eight. 

The surly Cameron had to share a room with Tom and George. He didn’t relish the idea of moving to St. Croix, and made sure everyone knew it. He got into mischief any chance he got, just to let the newly blended parents (as well as the rest of the world) know that he was angry about it.  

All the kids on the island were mesmerized by the newly arrived kids. Not only were they beautiful, they were new and novel on the island where we all knew each other so well. A sort of fresh meat, if you will. So all the boys my age were suddenly starry-eyed over Blythe. And I lost any chance of a boyfriend. And the girls all looked at Cameron in awe. (He was so vain that he actually sold his school photos to the girls for $5 apiece, and made quite a killing!)

And the kids weren’t the only ones who thought Blythe and Cameron walked on water. There were two shelves of food in the refrigerator that only Blythe, Cameron and Marilyn were allowed to eat – foods too tempting, detectable, and too special for the rest of us.


Our best horse (part of the family long before they arrived) could now only be ridden by Blythe and Cameron.

My young, impressionable mind was also captured by the beautiful, olive-skinned Blythe and longed to be more like her. I envied her thin waist, curvaceous hips and popularity. I even envied the surly Cameron and all the attention he got – even though most of it was negative. But when he did the slightest good thing (normal stuff that any kid would naturally be expected to do by course), he would be fawned over and praised. I felt invisible.

Being a people-pleasing, goody-two-shoes, I found so much of their bold, selfish, and devious behaviors absolutely scandalous. My younger sister and brother, not quite the people-pleasers I was, both found themselves sucked into Cameron’s devious plans from time to time. He was not above pouring things into the gas tanks of people’s cars, setting booby traps for cats, setting small fires on people’s doorsteps then ringing the bell, trying to catch unsuspecting seagulls with his fishing pole and hooks…

One night Cameron came into Blythe’s room where the two of us were listening to her Rolling Stones albums (yes, she even had her own record player – something completely unheard of back then!) and whispered into Blythe’s ear.

Whatever he’d said seemed to make her hesitate and then shake her head. He pulled her head over and whispered into her ear again, this time gesticulating with his hands as he whispered. 

 Finally she smiled and nodded her head. Then she turned to me with her walk-on-water smile and invited me to join her and Cameron for a walk along the beach.

I had a sense of reluctance. 

 But Blythe actually wanted me to do something with her. And she was the most popular girl on the east half of the island. How could I say no? It bothered me that Cam was involved, but how much trouble could there be if Blythe was included?

So I set off down the path with Cam and Blythe, down the path to the beach, and then eastward along the sandy stretch to the yacht club next door. Patty and George joined us on the beach, so I felt a lot more comfortable. Surely with this many of us, they weren’t up to no good.

At the yacht club, the others went into the building, but I felt that I just couldn’t do that – even though it was an open air sort of building, and a building I’d been in a thousand times. I’d been in there hundreds of times to get books from their free-exchange library. But I just didn’t feel right going into the building in the darkness. I sat down on the dock and waited for their return.

What could be taking them so long and what were they doing? 

Quite some time later, they all came running out onto the beach giggling and hunched over in a secretive, sneaky manner. My radar went off and I began to regret joining them. 

They hurried across the sand to where I sat.  When they  reached me, Cam held up four bottles – two of bloody Mary mix and two of vodka.

“Where did you get those?” I asked, shocked.

 “Behind the bar. I just picked the lock,” Cameron said. 

 “We needed them for the rest of our plan. Come on!”

And they all set off toward the golf course to the west of our house.  Reluctant to be the baby that didn’t want to go along with the others, I followed along in the darkness, stepping on rocks and an occasional thorn in my bare feet.

I figured they were going to drink the stuff. And it wouldn’t be so wrong to go with them. I just wouldn’t drink anything. Nothing they could say could make me do that. I could go along without doing anything wrong…


But when we reached the golf course, they proceeded to pour the bloody Mary mix into the little golf ball scrubbing machines on each golf tee spot.

“That way, when they put their balls in to wash them off, they’ll come out all red and dripping and they’ll think it’s blood!” 

Cameron sneered in the darkness with the most evil voice I’d ever heard in my young, sheltered life.

He convinced Patty and George to go pour the rest into the other machines on the other tee places. 

 He had phase two to do before anyone heard or saw us. Taking the vodka, he began to write “F… you!” on the green, knowing the vodka would kill the grass, leaving ugly, hateful brown words on the carefully tended velvety green.

I was horrified and considered turning back and going home alone, but I was terrified of the long trip, barefoot and in the dark. 

 How in the world had I gotten myself into this? The others ran around snickering and eventually laughing out loud at their genius plan. Blythe, and even I, kept shushing the others and telling them if they didn’t stop laughing, someone would hear and come after us!

   
And sure enough, suddenly Cam shouted, “Oh shit! Somebody’s coming!” And everyone took off running, leaving me like a deer in the headlights, frozen in fear. But I quickly came to my senses and took off after the others.

Down off the green, across the grass, through the sand trap, toward the pro shop we ran through the darkness, hearing a golf cart gaining on us in the shadows. 


The others were laughing hysterically, and Cam was shouting obscenities.  By the time we got to the pro shop on the main road, the golf cart was almost upon us. 

 We ran across the road and down a narrow, sandy, swampy road that ended quickly into a slimy mire.

The others, farther ahead of me, ran back into the five-foot high guinea grass and I could hear them splashing through the swampy brush. 

Patty, who had slowed to hurry me along, grabbed me by the arm and said, “We’re not going to make it! C’mon!” And we dove into the waist-high grass nearer the road and lay flat on our bellies, letting the grass wave over us in the breeze.

The golf cart pulled up to the side of the road. Not daring to drive down into the short, swampy road, he stopped there and got out, his headlights trained over the grass above our heads. We could hear the others splashing and laughing as they got further away through the swamp toward the beach.

Fortunately, the night watchman heard them too, and focused his large flashlight on the distant, cane-like grass and bushes beyond where their noisy exit could be heard. Patty and I held our breath.

“Damn kids!” the guard growled. It seemed he stood there an eternity before he got back into his cart. 

I finally let out my breath and gasped loudly for another one. I didn’t know which I feared most – being caught or dying from lack of oxygen.

He drove off and we lay there for quite a long time, fearful he was waiting in the darkness, or would return. Surely the watchman knew that the only kids living within a half mile would be at our house! Finally we figured it was safe to get up.

Patty insisted we follow the path of the others, through the swampy darkness to the beach and make our way back home that way – far away from the watchman’s grasp. But I just couldn’t bring myself to wade into that dark and slimy bog. The thought of my bare feet touching anything slimy – or worse yet, moving – frightened me more than being arrested

So Patty left me to make  my way home along the main road, ready to jump into the thorny bushes at the first sound of an automobile. I crept along, afraid of the boogy man and stubbing my toe and dying of fright.

I made it home undetected, and let my anger overcome my complacent shyness for once. I gave Cam and Blythe a piece of my mind. And I told them I never EVER wanted to be dragged into one of their schemes ever again!

Blythe went off to boarding school at the end of the summer, but Cam stayed behind, as surly and obnoxious as ever, perpetually getting into trouble.

And life at our house was never as chaste and serene as it had been, ever again.




Because I love your commands
       more than gold, more than pure gold,
  and because I consider all your precepts right,
       I hate every wrong path.  -- Psalm 119:127, 128




Then you will understand what is right and just
       and fair—every good path.
  For wisdom will enter your heart,
       and knowledge will be pleasant to your soul.
                                                                         -- Proverbs 2:9, 10




A righteous man is cautious in friendship,
       but the way of the wicked leads them astray.
In the way of righteousness there is life;
       along that path is immortality. 
                                                                        -- Provers 12:26, 28






Liz Rosas
8 January 2010