water flows over the foot bridge , though not swiftly. it has rained during the night, though not hard. it is early in the morning, though not quite daylight.
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a boy is crossing the foot bridge. he is unconcerned about the water current. he has crossed when the water moved much more rapidly. he is a boy of ten years.
the boy carries a fishing rod and he means to use it. it is a new experience for him. not fishing, but fishing alone. many times he has been to this creek with friends, but today it is just him. his name is marty. it is his boyhood name. it is the name his parents gave him. someday he will go by another name. it is a different sort of name, an odd name. when he begins to use this other name, it will be as if he never knew his name was once marty. but it was. it was his name on this day, when he is crossing the footbridge through the slowly moving current to the other side of jordan creek.
it was a dream that sent marty sneaking from his parents home in the middle of the night. in the dream he was crossing the footbridge with his fishing rod over his shoulder and a box of cracker jacks in his other hand. (this is where we came in.)
marty was wearing an old pair of sneakers with no socks. he did this because the foot bridge was made of stone and it made his tender feet hurt to cross barefoot. when he got to the other side he took off the old sneakers and hid them in the bushes. he had tied another pair together by the laces and he took them now from the back of his neck and sat down. he pulled socks from the sneakers and put them on. he thought he was a freakin’ genius.
“I’m a freakin’ genius!” he said to a couple of bats that were darting about. the water had been chilly,but now his freakin’ genius feet were warm inside his freakin’ genius socks! he put the dry pair of sneakers on. now he could make the rest of the trip without sloshing around in those old dumb ass sneakers, or stubbing his bare dumb ass toes! marty was clearly learning from his past mistakes. he was a freakin’ genius with a fishing rod, a box of crackerjacks, dry warm feet and a dream to live. in his dream his name wasn’t marty. but he wasn’t really thinking about that , because that part of the dream was in the very nebulous, cobwebby parts of his short term memory.
it was about another half hour walk to the spot. the genius got to his feet and commenced the rest of his hike. but first he had to step in a big pile of dog crap.
"the speed at which one travels is indicative of the severity of catastophic impact one is willing to risk."