Southern Sins

Finally, he came to the exit off the Natchez Trace he needed to take and drove nervously toward the Pearl River.  His heart was pounding-he could hear it in his ears- like a loud brass drum and he was sweating profusely.  He couldn’t believe he was here, at this place, at this time, engaging in this atrocious act.  He knew it was sink or swim time now.  There was no turning back.

      There it was.  Unless his eyes deceived him, he had reached  “Ratliff  Ferry Landing”.  It hadn’t changed since the last time he was here.  This will work, he thought, no one’s around.  As he pulled up to the landing, he cut his lights off and killed the engine.

     Crickets chirping and bullfrogs bellowing were the only sounds to be heard in this dark, damp place.  An old fishing wharf  resting over the water and concrete pillars in the water that once supported a railroad  track  were the only signs left of this once bustling, river ferry crossing.  By the light of the full moon, he saw a paucity of old, rotting, dilapidated picnic tables just a few feet from where the road came to an abrupt end and met up with the grass.  Many folks in years past frequented the old river landing and numerous family  reunions had been enjoyed here by the banks of the “Pearl River”.  The “Pearl River” is 485 miles in length and its lower course forms part of the Mississippi-Louisiana border.  According to Indian legend, the Choctaw Indians had originally named it “Rock River”, obeying the great spirit’s wishes.  However, in 1698, the French explorer D’iberville and his men changed its name to the “Pearl River” after finding pearls at the mouth of the river where it empties into the Gulf of Mexico.                                                   

     Spooked by the place and by the task at hand, he forced himself out of his Cadillac, took the keys from the ignition, opened his door and headed to the trunk of his car.  Just as he was about to pop the trunk with his key fob, he heard some voices.  Distant, at first, then closer and clearer.  His body froze.  Breathing was halted for a few seconds.  He swung around to see three young men  walking slowly out of the woods headed straight toward him.

     “Hey there. Hey man! Whatcha’ doin’?” one of the boys yelled out to him. 

     He froze with fear. What on earth do I say?  What do I say that I’m doing out here?  He thought fast and furious. He felt as if his brain would explode.  The young men drew near.

     “Whatcha’ doin’ here man?” one of the young men asked inquisitively.

     “I’m afraid , I”m uh, a little lost guys.”

     “Lost?  Whatcha’ lookin’ for?”

     “I , I  thought when I took this gravel road off of  River Bend Road , that I was headed to my buddy’s cabin,” he uttered, pointing up the road.  “Anyway, what are you guys doing here this time of night?”

     “Us, oh, we’re campin’ out just down there,” the tattooed teen replied, as he pointed toward the woods near the riverbank. “We saw some headlights, and well, we just wanted to check it out.  We’ve been ‘specting some friends to show up and we thought you might be them.”

           “Yes, well, I’m sorry if I disturbed ya’ll.