Henry, A Donkey, and A Girl
Henry and I were twelve years old and the best of friends. We got along because we enjoyed the same ignorance on many subjects — one of which was girls. It was a hot June Saturday in the summer of 1946 when Henry had his first lesson about how not to impress a girl.
At twelve years of age, we had not yet discovered girls were anything other than a pain. They giggled and laughed and acted silly.
Two weeks before we were to be released for the summer from the “prison” known as Roosevelt Junior High School, Laura Cranfield moved to town. Her father was the new bank president. Mrs. Andres had just given us our math assignment when the door opened. Mr. Kirk, the principal ushered a girl into the room. There she stood, a vision of loveliness like never before seen — hair the color of ground cinnamon, eyes as blue as the sea. Right then and there, Henry fell in love. (The first of many “true loves” in the years to come.)
The last two weeks of school dragged on and on and on. At last, we were released from “prison.” The lazy days of summer awaited us.
We spent the first afternoon of our new-found freedom swimming and making plans for the summer while Blue, my donkey, stood tied to a fence post close to the creek. I live on ranch. Henry lived in town. As often as his mother would allow and when I didn’t thave to work, the spent weekends at our place.
“Next Saturday, if Dad don’t have sumthin’ for me to do, “said, “Let’s look for Magpie nests.”
“I think Laura likes me.” Henry said.
“How do you know she likes you?”
“I saw her and her mother in the drugstore last night.”
“You saw her in the drugstore and you think she l-i-k-e-s you? Man you’re nuts! That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Yeh. I could tell by the way she looked at me that she likes me.”
“Fergit about that dumb girl,” I said. “Do you wanna look for Magpie nests on Saturday, or not?”
“Yer jist mad ’cause she don’t like you.”
“I’ve got better things to do than “moon” around about some dumb girl,” I said, and pushed his head under water.
We dived, swam, and splashed, and ducked one another, and made plans to look for Magpie nests, and shoot prairie dogs, and ride donkeys when I didn’t have to work.
“I’m hungry,” I said. “Let’s go home and eat lunch.”
“That’s the smartest thing you’ve said in a month.” Henry said.
We climbed out of the water and up the bank. Did we ever get a shock! Sitting on a beautiful dappled-grey Arabian mare, Laura Cranfield was laughing and smiling.
“You boys sure are ugly without any clothes on.”
The earth wouldn’t swallow me, and Henry “died” in his wet tracks. With nothing available to cover our privates but our hands, we backed into the water. Henry, backing 500 miles per hour, tripped and fell backwards. While Henry splashed and choked, I tried to hide and keep from drowning. Laura sat her horse for a couple of minutes and continued to laugh. With a flip of her beautiful cinnamon-colored hair, she turned her horse and looped up the trail.
Henry was mad and embarrassed. He kicked a tree trunk. He didn’t hurt the tree, but his big toe was a different matter. (It was much bigger for a very long time.)
Two weeks later, Henry and I, riding double on my donkey Blue, heard a horse coming up behind us at a lope. It was Laura, the new-found love of Henry’s life. “Hey guys. I see you have cloths on today,” Laura called as she rode alongside us.
True to form, Henry tried to act all suave and relaxed. “Hi Laura. That’s a fine-looking horse. Sure is good to see you today,” he said.
“What a cute donkey,” Laura said.
Nothing ticked me off more than someone calling Blue “cute”.
Trying to act all important, Henry asked, “You wanna ride her?”
“I like donkeys,” Laura said. “Yes, I’d like to ride her.”
We slid off Blue’s back. Laura handed me the bridle reins to hold her horse. Henry gave her a hand-up and she rode down the road a ways and back. “This is really a good doneky,” she said.
We stood in the middle of the road and talked about the up-coming parade on Saturday. “I’d like to ride Blue in the parade and you could ride my mare,” Laura said.
Henry blushed a deep red and said, “I gotta white donkey you could ride if you want to. It’s a much better donkey than this one.” (Henry had a talent for revising the truth.) The truth of the matter was – the week before, I had traded Frankie Gadberry five red hens and a brown kid goat for a small white jenny donkey.
Saturday we met Laura at Bud’s Texaco Service Station. She traded her mare with Henry for mysmall white jenny donkey. Henry thought he had died and gone to heaven. He helped Laura upon the donkey before he stepped into the saddle on the Arabian mare. Down the street they rode, Henry trying to act like Gene Autry and Laura sitting as tall and composed as a rodeo queen.
The nerve center of our small town was the intersection of 6th and Main Street. Right in the middle of the intersection, that white donkey had a change of personality. She stopped dead in her donkey tracks, squatted, slobbered, raised her tail, and brayed. Then she bucked. Taken by surprise, Laura abruptly became airborne. She landed on her back on the pavement. From her undignified position, she looked up at Henry and let out a screechthat was heard twenty miles away. The terror on her face right then and there convinced me that crazy ol’ man Tillitson had sneaked up behind Henry with a hatchet.
So much for a young boy trying to impress a young girl with a donkey.
3 Responses to “Henry, A Donkey, and A Girl”
August 27th, 2009 at 5:35 pm
Apparently, Henry and Mr. George both had a talent for revising the truth!!! I love this story, although, Mr. George had, by this time, already told his wife to be that he was gonna marry her and made her mad! So he can laugh at poor Henry trying to learn his way thru girls and life!
tanya
August 28th, 2009 at 5:10 pm
I’ll bet Henry’s little sharing stunt about clinched his love life with the cinnamon-colored beauty for life!
Good stuff, Oris.
Danielle
September 17th, 2009 at 8:16 am
You’ve been selected!
http://janverhoeff.com/blog/?p=317
Kreativ Blogger Award
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