Seminal Moments

By Jan D. Hendrix

Along the road of life, there can be many adventures. They can be real or imagined or personal or hearsay, and the next one may be just over the hill. Usually when these exceptional experiences are recalled, they are viewed as just another life occurrence with no further meaning. But sometimes, if the event was memorable, it has meaning thats more significant than the event itself.

The incident was decisive and pivotal, bringing about a life-changing state of affairs that can be revealed in retrospect. Such incidences can suggest stories that show us the way we are.

In the story The Blue Hole, young Jefferys spontaneous and dramatic action unintentionally brought about his first sense of identity. In A New Day, Jim didnt realize his transitory situation as he boarded the bus, but a big event was unfoldinghe was losing his boyhood. And in Seminal Moments, Bill only realized twenty years after the fact what happened to launch his successful career.

These and other stories in the book are all based on special encounters, reflecting life in passing.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jun 4, 2018
• ISBN: 9781532051241

Jan D. Hendrix

Jan Hendrix has traveled extensively throughout many countries. He served in the United States Army and worked as a computer engineer for many years. In addition to six years of technical schooling, he has a bachelor’s degree in literature from the University of Alabama and a master’s degree in literature from California State University. Jan lives in Austin, Texas. This is his fifth book.

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SEMINAL MOMENTS

Copyright © 2018 Jan D Hendrix.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This book is a work of fiction. People, events and situation are all the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. No part of this book may be reproduced without written permission of the author.

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

ISBN: 978-1-5320-5123-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5320-5125-8 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-5320-5124-1 (e)

iUniverse rev. date: 05/31/2018

Contents

The Blue Hole

Brother’s Keeper

Life Along the Mississippi

The Golden Globe

Hullabaloo

The Swan Dive

Following the Trade

Patty

A New Day

Three Day Pass

The Pier at Nature’s Point

The Attic

Seminal Moments

Wind

About The Author

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Seminal Momentsv

Five Stars (out of Five)

Targeted details, evocative phrases, and vivid descriptive passages enhance the quality of Hendrix’s prose.

Life-changing moments revealed in retrospect lend a contemplative tone to this outstanding short story collection. Jan D. Hendrix offers fourteen eclectic snapshots of life in these stories.

Sometimes obvious, yet often oblique, every situation depicted in this collection leads to a turning point, propelling a protagonist in a specific direction. As Hendrix suggests, these catalysts are not always apparent at the time they occur.

In Life along the Mississippi, a desperate man implements a dangerous plan, attempting insurance fraud to save his family from financial ruin: When the barge was almost on him and Jake could see white foaming swells and hear the swishing sound of water being forced aside by the bow of the barge, he stood up and leaped far out into the blackness.

Later, he wakes up on a sandbar, disoriented: Slowly the starlit sky focused in his mind, and full consciousness returned to him. He brought himself to a sitting position and looked around at the moon-brightened sand and the black, shadow-cast waters. Every carefully selected word demonstrates Hendrix’s gift for imagery.

The vignettes in this compilation deliver a punch—sometimes soft, sometimes hard. Conclusions require active interpretation rather than mere comprehension. Hendrix’s writing reaches beyond basic commercial genre standards, delving into symbolism and word play typical of literary fiction. In this work, the simplest scene demands scrutiny and every description holds possible meaning.

Dedicated to

Sandro, Fox, Scout, Lena & Sailor

Looking Back—

Emerging formless and ghostly from cloud banks in the mind, images with voices and laughter and memories chiseled in time.

The Blue Hole

THE BLUE HOLE

A spark strikes the innate plasma, creating an electric fervor, impulses jumping node to node, attracting and repelling, until finally in a dynamic flash emerges that marvelous human trait—the self.

Everyone had nicknames except Jeff. There was Pinky, Rubba Head, Smiley, Owl, and Runner. For some reason a distinctive name had never stuck with Jeff; he was always just one of the gang of boys known as Jeffrey. This left him moody, and he often longed to be someone different. That morning, as he left home to join his friends at the junior basketball court, he carefully folded his Spiderman comic book and put it in his back pocket, as he always did.

Hey, Jeffrey, Pinky hollered as Jeff entered the ball court. It’s about time, slowpoke.

I ain’t no slowpoke, Jeff said, glaring at Pinky, his mouth firm. Jeff wished he could be more like Pinky. With his pale, white skin and pink eyes and white shaggy hair, he stood out in any crowd. Jeff secretly envied him, his distinctive looks; they all looked up to him as their unofficial leader.

We’ve been waiting, Pinky said. It’s too hot to play ball. The asphalt’s like a sauna bath in hell. Pinky had never been in a sauna bath; he would often use expressions he had heard his dad say.

Yeah, Rubba Head said, shaking his head and looking seriously at Jeff. Rubba Head always agreed with Pinky.

I’ve got an idea, Pinky said, motioning the boys to come closer. The shirtless boys gathered around in open conspiracy. Looking around to make sure no outsider could hear, Pinky continued: Let’s go swimming. The boys perked up. With eager faces, they moved in closer.

You mean the Blue Hole, Owl said, his wide, round eyes growing wider.

Yeah, Smiley said, losing his natural grin with the seriousness of the proposal. He took a step closer to Pinky to show support. Jeff nodded in agreement also.

Should we split up when we leave the neighborhood? Rubba Head asked.

Sure, Pinky said, frowning. You know we don’t want anyone to know! The Blue Hole was their secret place. It had to be secret; it would be considered dangerous and forbidden by their parents. Take different directions and meet at the top of the hill, Pinky said. Slowpoke, don’t be late, he said to Jeff. Everyone laughed.

I ain’t no slowpoke, Jeff repeated.

Well, who are you? Runner, the fastest boy in sixth grade, taunted. Bouncing the ball and twirling, he took one last shot.

I’ll beat you there, Jeff said, his hand going to the Spiderman comic book in his back pocket.

They quickly left the ball court, scattering like flushed quail.

* * *

The Blue Hole lay in a wooded area just over a range of hills a couple of miles from their suburban community. The site had originally been used as a rock quarry, but the quarry was shut down after its operators had struck an underground spring, leaving a large pool of deep blue water surrounded by rocky banks and overhanging cliffs. With the road approaching the quarry no longer used, weeds and small trees had sprouted up, cutting off access to all but hikers, leaving the quarry remote and isolated. In the dense greenery of the heavily wooded countryside, the opening cut in the sloping hillside exposed an area of brown and white limestone rock encircling a patch of blue that stood out as distinctively as a moon crater.

The boys had discovered the quarry while backpacking in early spring and had declared it their own private place. They swore to keep it a secret and gave it a name. Through the early summer, they had spent many afternoons swimming and diving from the cliff walls or lying around on the sunbaked sheets of flat rocks that jutted out over the pristine pool.

The secret nature of the Blue Hole was an intimate part of its appeal for the group, bonding the boys in a way that being schoolmates or on the same ball team had not. It was their special place. Its mysterious underwater world concealed huge boulders and dark crevices and spiraling rocky projections that appeared to be slowly emerging from the depths. It was an exciting and captivating world, a world as enchanting and mysterious as their imaginations would allow. After swimming in the Blue Hole, they would journey home feeling they had accomplished an important mission, much as Conan the Barbarian might have in crossing the Enchanted Sea.

With the sun burning high in the sky and in eager anticipation of a cool swim, they approached their swimming hole. But just before breaking through the foliage on the upper side of the quarry, they stopped abruptly, hearing voices ahead down by the water. Peering through the trees, they could see several youths of about their own age standing at the water’s edge, talking and skipping rocks across the pool. All six gang members huddled together, not believing their eyes as they stared in amazement through the green undergrowth at the intruders. What’s they doing here? Rubba Head whispered, his sun-reddened face wrinkling into a fierce frown.

Let’s rock ’em away! Runner said. He reached down and selected two particular rocks and held one in each hand.

Yeah! Owl agreed. He too searched about and selected two special rocks. The other boys scurried around, mumbling threats and looking for the right-size rocks.

Wait, Pinky whispered, shaking his head, his shaggy white hair flopping around like a dust mop. Before we rock ’em, let’s go down there and just tell ’em to leave. There’s six of us and four of them. He stared hard at the intruders by the water. But keep your rocks ready in your pockets. The others agreed, pocketing their stones as they moved silently around the edge of the quarry.

Like Indian warriors the half-naked boys worked their way through the undergrowth. By the time they reached the road side of the quarry, the intruders had taken off their shirts and shoes in preparation to go swimming. One small, skinny kid had already begun to walk down into the water along the submerged access road where once the mined material was hauled out of the quarry. The clean, translucent water offered a clear view of the road bottom for a distance. But to the left of the submerged roadway, the water immediately became grayish-blue with no distinct images in the depths.

As the band of six suddenly emerged from the dense woods and approached the water’s edge, the boys already there immediately faced them with uncertain looks. They moved closer together and stood with their feet apart, ready to fight or ready to run. The youngest boy on the roadway didn’t move, standing knee-deep in the water some twenty feet away from his group. Pinky led his band to stand before the intruders. The biggest boy held a long and heavy stick in his hand, and his arms were well developed. With his eyes darting from one boy to the next in Pinky’s band, he threw out a challenge to any who might question his authority. Pinky glared back, then, looking around to make sure Jeff and the rest were just behind him, he said, This’s our swimming hole.

The larger boy didn’t speak for a moment, but his gaze never eased up on Pinky. Don’t see no sign that says that, he said finally. He turned his head slightly, glancing at his friends, and then returned his glare to Pinky and the others.

We’ve been coming here all summer, Rubba Head blurted out, taking a step closer to the intruders. This’s our swimming hole, he continued, repeating Pinky’s proclamation. The rest of the boys mumbled an agreement and nodded their heads and shuffled their feet to show support.

Jeff said nothing. Although caught up in the enthusiasm of the encounter and seething with excitement, he held his speech. He had learned early to keep his mouth shut when having a conflict with his father. This approach had helped to keep him out of trouble in the past and had become his usual way of dealing with confrontations. But, as he was not venting his inner turmoil with speech, his tension grew, building up to a boiling point. He looked from one intruder boy to the other, sizing them up. Seeing the kid with the big stick, Jeff was a little scared—but he wasn’t going to show it. He and his gang had the right of ownership on their side and a gang of six boys to back it up.

Pinky grew more confident with Rubba Head’s boldness and stepped up to stand beside him. The intruder boys shuffled their feet but stood their ground. The skinny kid in the water stood rigid. Cut off from his friends when Pinky’s band suddenly appeared, blocking his exit from the Blue Hole, he stood alone and frightened on the submerged road. The path across the mysterious blue and gray water offered his only chance to regroup with his friends. His eyes blinked and flashed white as they darted back and forth between the opposing groups.

Don’t see no sign, the largest boy repeated, raising his voice slightly. He slowly brought the stick up to cup it in his left hand while still clutching it tightly in his right hand. Pinky’s band moved back a step, their hands moving to their pockets. Each side poised itself, ready for action; any further movement from anyone would bring on the battle.

Suddenly a loud splash and a thrashing about in the water startled them. Everyone turned to look. The young boy standing on the submerged road—and temporarily forgotten by both groups—had panicked and attempted to run to his friends. His shortest route was the few feet across the blue water. But when he had stepped from the roadway, he lunged forward into unknown depths. He splashed about, frantically driving himself farther away from the safety of the submerged roadway and the protruding rocks at the pool’s edge. No one in either group made a move or said a word. All the world went quiet; no birds or forest sounds could be heard; the wind didn’t exist. Only the sound of the frantic splashing of flailing arms, struggling in desperation, echoed throughout the quarry walls and across the desolate hills.

Everyone stood frozen, unable to move from the sheer shock of the desperate, new situation. The struggling boy splashed about momentarily and then slipped quietly under the surface, the clean, clear quarry water enveloping him and pulling him down like a sinking stone. All on the quarry’s bank stood in dumb silence, their eyes locked to the smoothening surface water and the growing-indistinct image of the boy’s upturned face as it slowly sank.

He gone, one of the intruder boys said, his mouth gaping open, his arm coming up slightly, as if to point to the now-calming water surface that just an instant before had vibrated with frantic life. Gone for good.

Pinky stood unmoving, staring blankly at the circles in the water. The rest of his gang looked on in astonishment, their eyes glued to the water surface, the diminishing ripples smoothing out as if nothing had happened. What had once existed had now vanished.

Stunned momentarily, Jeff forgot about the kid with the stick and the confrontation. As he stared at the disappearing ripples, something began to stir in his subconscious, something from its mysterious depths suddenly shocked him fully awake, severely agitating his awareness. Without thinking he quickly pushed aside the boy blocking his way and kicking off his sneakers, he plunged into the water of the Blue Hole. He then swam rapidly to the spot where the skinny kid had gone down. In the water his visibility was limited, and he couldn’t find the boy. In desperation he ducked under the surface. He could see clearly for a short distance, but then only dim, black space loomed below him. When he resurfaced the other boys were shouting and pointing to look farther out. Jeff swam a few strokes and dove under again, going deeper this time. At the deeper depth, nothing but the dark, mystifying void and a shrill ringing in his ears confronted him.

He was tired and his lungs ached, but he never thought of giving up. Personal harm and the finality of his own drowning was something he didn’t consider. Something inexplicable from deep in his nature was emerging, something as mysterious as the depths of the Blue Hole itself, and forcing him forward. He continued to work his way around the area, swimming a few strokes, ducking under the surface to look, and then swimming to another section. After he covered the area completely, he paused to catch his breath. The boys on the bank were silent now, quietly surrendering to the inevitable. Jeff, treading water and breathing