Brothers - A story of Love and tradgedy

         
The long Kansas summer had ended. Moreover, with it came the end of years of constant companionship that Brad, Larry, and Vicky had come to know, to expect.
They sat arms around each other’s shoulders at the end of the short wooden dock; feet dangling over the cool, tranquil waters of Wary Lake watching as the light blue late summer sky turned a warm, reddish orange.
They had spent the afternoon reminiscing over many of the highs and lows in their lives since they had met in grade school so many years ago. During these years they had been almost inseparable.
Both Brad and Vicki were born and raised here in Salina, Kansas, while the boys had met in their second grade year when Larry’s family had relocated from Los Angeles to escape not only the increasing traffic and air pollution, but be closer to his aging grandparents who had moved to the Salina area fifteen years before.
Larry had been somewhat of an introvert back then, yet the two had taken to each other like bees to honey. It was only a matter of a few short days’ before they had become good friends. The coming years would see them do virtually everything together.
When they were eleven, their interest, as is many boys of their age, centered on comic books and model airplanes. However, as they did not earn near enough allowance to buy all they craved, they decided to sign up for a joint paper route. Therefore, over the next three years, come four-thirty every morning, they would be up, dressed, and ready to go to work.
Now, being each day’s bundle of papers would be delivered to Brad’s house, Larry would ride his bike the six blocks to help wrap and bag them for delivery. Once the papers were loaded into the large canvas bags each carried on their shoulders, they would head out on their route.
The majority of the time they would have the papers delivered, return to eat breakfast, and be at school promptly by 7:45.
The only day that proved to be a challenge due to the size and weight of the papers was Sunday. To solve this problem their fathers had volunteered to trade off weekends and carry the boys, papers and all, along their route in the family car.
They joined Boy Scouts, where they would go to jamborees together, as well as going on camping and fishing trips over long weekends and during summer school break with each other’s families. It was as if they were, so-to-speak, joined at the hip.
This unique “brotherly” bond brought about an unforgettable and painful occasion when they had decided there was a certain watermelon in need of liberation out at Old Man Washington’s farm. Moreover, they just happened to know the right two boys for the job - yep, themselves!
The moment they had laid eyes on that great melon they knew it would certainly be worth the risk of being caught. They both knew all too well the punishment for doing such a dastardly deed would result in their grounding for at least a week, among other things.
Nevertheless, this melon, well it just had to be the biggest, tastiest looking melon they had ever seen. A true “Champion” of watermelons.
They carefully planned their daring raid to take place around noon the following Thursday.
Their plan was simple. They would ride their bikes the three miles to the farm, and if Old Man Washington was outside, they’d wait until he went inside to eat lunch, thus preventing him from seeing, let alone hearing them as they carried out their daring mission of watermelon liberation.
They would be in, have the melon, and be gone before Ole Man Washington knew what had happened.
Yep, it could not have been any easier! In fact, General Westmoreland himself would surely be proud of their strategy, their bravado.
Come that fateful day, they jumped on their trusty bicycles for the ride to the melon patch.
Reaching the farm, and upon seeing the old man puttering about in front of his house, they laid their bikes on the grassy shoulder of the road, and then slunk up to the shadow of a large maple tree not five feet from the four-foot high wooden rail fence separating them from their prize.
Standing motionless behind the tree, hearts racing, eyes wide with anticipation, they watched and waited as Old Man Washington fussed about in his yard. Thoughts of just how sweet and juicy that big melon had to be, how grand it was going to taste on such a hot summer day filled their heads to overflowing.
Devilish grins appeared their faces as the old man turned and climbed the steps of his porch, opened the screen door and disappeared inside.
Within seconds, and before the screen door had even closed behind him, the daring duo were up and over the fence and making a beeline for the great melon.
However, as luck would have it, Thursday was the day Ole Man Washington would meet his wife in town for lunch; he had merely stepped inside to fetch his truck keys.
So intent were the two mighty raiders in their quest to free their prize from its earthly bonds that they failed to notice when he stepped back onto the porch, cast a steely glance in their direction, muttered, “Gotcha”, a wide grin running from ear to ear on his weathered face, he turned and quietly re-entered his house. But not for long.
The stealthy commandos had just scooped up the big melon, young mouths’ watering when Ole Man Washington reappeared. However, this time he was not alone. Clutched in his knurled and calloused old hands was his trusty double-barreled 12-gauge shotgun; and it was kept loaded with a charge of rock salt for just such a monumental occasion.
With heads full of thoughts of cutting into, and devouring their fantastic prize, they did not hear Ole Man Washington shout, “So you wanna steal my melons do ya? Well here’s a little salt to go with it!”
The words had just crossed his lips when his finger squeezed the triggers. That old twelve-gauge spoke with one loud and unforgettable roar!
Now, as anyone having had the pure displeasure of taking a charge of rock salt in his or her backside can attest to, it is surely an experience one can do without, and one not quickly, nor easily forgotten.
The rock salt found its mark on that fateful day. It literally peppered the back of the valiant duo’s thighs and young, tender behinds.
Larry would later describe it as feeling like the sting of a hundred bees . . . and very big, very angry bees at that.
The load of rock salt had been followed immediately by Ole Man Washington’s warning yell of, “You boys had better get the hell outta my melons and never come back if you know what’s good for ya!”
With their backsides on fire, and their prize melon dropped and broken in several pieces, their feet covered the twenty yards to the fence in mere seconds.
Brad will swear to this very day that Larry, upon reaching the four-foot high fence had literally cleared it in one mighty leap. After reaching their bikes, they wasted no time in peddling as fast as their legs would go for the long and painful ride home.
Yes sir, these two mighty melon liberators had shared more than a strong bond of friendship that day in the melon patch; they shared a large load of rock salt to boot.
The pain of the load of rock salt combined with the discomfort and indignity of their dad’s “Laying hands” upon their already bruised and bloodied bottoms that evening had certainly made them true “Blood-Brothers” in every sense of the word.
It would be months before either of them could look at a slice of watermelon without painful memories of that afternoon.
Over the years the memories of the melon patch incident would bring about hearty bouts of laughter each time they would pass by Ole Man Washington’s farm; not to mention the little twinge each one would get in their backsides.
Over the years, Larry became more and more outgoing.
His jet-black hair, steel grey eyes, and muscular, 5’11” physique made him an instant success with the female student body in both junior and senior high school.
He was a natural on the gridiron, picked as offensive team captain, voted president of his high school class, and least we forget; King of his High School Prom.
Larry’s outstanding athletic ability not only earned him an MVP award his junior and senior year, but was one of the contributing factors in South Central Highs making All State Conference two years in a row.
The yardage he gained and the touchdowns he scored were the talk of the town at numerous Sunday church gatherings, as well as the topic of choice at a couple of the local barber shops come Saturday.
His ability on the football field earned him a full-ride athletic scholarship to the University of Nebraska in Omaha.
Larry’s love of football ran neck and neck with his strong
desire to pursue a career in Medicine. He would frequently talk with Brad about his vision to return to work in one of the local hospitals once he had finished Medical School and his emergency medicine residency.
Now, Brad on the other hand, 5’10”, blonde, with soft blue eyes, had never been much of an athlete; unless you could classify a game of Frisbee football a qualifying high school athletic sport.
Oh, granted, he had tried his hand at little league baseball. However, early on he had concluded that every pitcher he went up against, for reasons known only to the pitcher and God, took an instant dislike of him as it seemed his head attracted wayward pitches the way a magnet does iron filings.
Many were the days he would thank God for batting helmets.
However, he did obtain the distinguished record of having walked to base more times than anyone else in the history of Salina Little League baseball. This was not something he was apt to brag about however.
After two brain rattling seasons he had decided the old “noggin” had to have a purpose other than that of stopping misguided pitches and began to concentrate on two things he enjoyed, model cars and girls, and not necessarily in that order.
The bond between the two had become very strong over the ensuing years, and would become even stronger in the days and months ahead. A bond that could not have been any stronger had they been biological brothers.
Being such it had come as no great surprise to Brad’s parents when he informed them of his desire to move to Omaha and study computer technology at Metropolitan Community College when Larry left for U of N in the fall.
He would get a part-time job to help pay his way, and they could share a small, furnished apartment close to both schools.
Yep, they were truly brothers, in heart, mind, and life!





Little Vicki Giddings, now there was a real “WOW!” girl.
At least that is the way Brad and Larry had described her the first time they had laid eyes on her in their fourth grade year.
She had the deepest blue eyes, the blondest hair, and the prettiest smile they had ever seen. In addition, each had decided right off, unbeknownst to her or each other for that matter, that she was destined to be their girl, the love of their young life.
Vicki came from a very well to do, and very well-known old line Salina family.
Her father, Brandon Giddings, had received ownership of one of the largest cattle and feed lots in the plains states from his father, Randall, whom had received it through the death of Vicki’s great-grand father, Owen.
The Giddings Livestock and Auction Company was responsible for the sale and shipment of a quarter of the corn-feed beef consumed in the plains states, if not the entire mid-western region.
Her mother, Pamela Giddings, was without a doubt, the town’s biggest philanthropist when it came to giving to charities, as well as easily being the focal point at numerous church and political fundraisers in both Salina and Topeka. She also made it a habit to host a minimum of four or five “Who’s Who” benefit bar-b-que’s and cocktail parties each year at their massive home. Her guest list would always include the Governor, state and federal congressional representatives, as well as well-known film and sports celebrities.
The Giddings residence sat at the end of a long, private tree lined lane five miles south of town. It was without a doubt the biggest and most opulent home in Salina. One thing was certain; it was not only the fanciest, but also the largest place Brad and Larry had ever seen. But to their credit they hadn’t seen that many either.
Vicki was an only child. Moreover, as such her parents had always shielded her from the “real world” outside their doors. They kept her out of the mainstream as far as having a normal childhood was concerned.
She attended the very prestigious Heritage Private Academy for girls where her father was one of their major financial supporters, if not the most prominent and influential of the money behind the school. This fact was evident in the names given to three of the school buildings - The Brandon Giddings Library, Giddings South Academic Hall, and The Pamela Giddings Dormitory.
However, Vicki being somewhat of a rebellious child, had plans of her own.
Her true heart’s desire; too to be treated as other girls her age. She was tired of everyone calling her “the spoiled little rich girl.” She was tired of going to fancy birthday parties hosted by the parents of the town’s well-to-do and very spoiled children.
Vicki was tired of wearing expensive dresses, designer jeans, shoes, and such. She was tired of hearing, “Now darling, do not get your pretty shoes and dress all dirty. Remember always, you’re a little lady.” She was very tired of not being allowed to be a normal kid.
She was also bored with her Nanny, the straight-laced Ms. Peters.
Ms. Peters watched over her, as a hawk would its prey, and she loved the color black. Her clothes, shoes, everything she wore were black. Not to mention she had a large mole on the right side of her nose. Because of this, Vicki was always referring to her as the “Wicked Witch of the East” from her favorite movie, “The Wizard of Oz.”
Vicki would swear that the mole had a life of its own and would move when Ms. Peters became upset with her.
One day Vicki decided enough was enough and began her carefully planned rebellion.
More than anything, she wanted to attend one of the local public schools, or as her parents would refer to them; “learning centers for the less fortunate in life”.
Her plan was simple and would be easy to accomplish. She would simply start failing to complete homework assignments, giving the excuse of “I just forgot to do it, sorry”, when asked.
She would refuse to go to anymore of the fancy birthday parties for her classmates and other darlings of the community. She took it upon herself to locate a few nice mud puddles in the yard following a good rain to slosh through all while adorned in her expensive shoes and dresses.
Well, so much for their “Little Lady.”
Last, but surely not least, there were the “Evil Eye” stares she began to bestow upon Ms. Peters.
In an effort to ward off talk regarding the possibility that their darling little Vicki was in a dire mental state, and should be, God forbid, put into counseling, her parents gave into her wish to be a “Normal” kid. They decided to allow her to attend public school, but only on the conditions that if she did not like the school, her classmates, or did not achieve at least a “B” plus academic status the first year, she would return to Heritage.
Success, she had done it!
Vicki wholeheartedly agreed.
She was well on her way to becoming one of the regular kids she had always secretly envied.
The following year would find her enrolled in Oakdale Elementary, and almost immediately become the focus of Brad and Larry’s clandestine crushes.
Vicki took to the public school life as a duck does to water. She surpassed all her parents’ expectations—and then some. Forget the “B” plus stuff, she became a straight “A” student her very first semester and was very popular among her classmates. In particular, two boys that for some strange reason always seemed to be smiling at her, trying to sit next to her in the cafeteria at lunch, and vie for her attention at recess.
By the end of their fourth grade year, Larry, Brad and Vicki had become the best of friends and companions.
Any time you saw one of them at the movies, the mall, skating rink, or the lake, you could bet the other two were not far off. The trio was together so often; those that knew them had bestowed the nickname, “The Three Musketeers” upon them.
It was during their high school sophomore year that Larry, much to Brad’s heartache, asked Vicki to be his steady girl, and she had said, “Yes”. To make it official, Larry gave Vicki his high school pin, thus “pinning” her as his girl.
Their relationship grew stronger thru high school.
Vicki’s desire to be close to Larry was so great she even tried out for, and became a cheerleader for the football team. In this way, she could be close to Larry at football games, both at home and away.
In the discussions of her relationship with Larry with her closest friends, she would refer to the two of them as being true soul mates, and destined to be together forever.
Although at first devastated and heartbroken, Brad in time, and truly out of his deep love for both of them, grew to except their relationship. By their senior year, he had become their staunchest supporter.
The trio had become truly inseparable in heart and in life.

With the approaching night, Brad, Vicki, and Larry sat silent, arms draped around each other’s shoulders at the edge of the dock, and with the lapping of the water on the shore the only sound, they realized, not only was the long summer over, but so was a very big, very special part of their lives.
Brad and Larry were off to Omaha next week, and Vicki, to her parent’s joy and contentment, had applied to and been accepted to Harvard and would leave the following weekend.
With the darkening of the sky, their talk turned to the coming months. Months that would find them, for the first time since they had met, far apart. They would all be attending different schools, in two different states, starting new and unknown phases in their lives.
They discussed plans to return home on long weekends and holidays to be together. Larry and Brad would drive the two hundred and fifty miles from Omaha to Salina, while Vicki would fly down from Massachusetts.
Larry and Vicki discussed the possible roadblocks to their long distance relationship, with Brad all the while chipping in with his strong assurance that he would do everything he could to assist his two best friends in keeping their promises to each other.
Sitting on the dock, the approaching darkness beginning to envelope them, they could hear the creatures of the night begin their chorus of song. Along the shore, the deep bellow of Bull Frogs rose above the sound of the lapping water as they called out to each other.
Vicki laid her head on Larry’s shoulder, and with a deep sigh said, “Well my dears, an old life ends, and a new one begins.”
Vicki pulled her two favorite people close and gave each a tender kiss on the cheek. Seated there on the edge of the dock that warm summer night they made a solemn promise, a promise that they would always be there for each other, no matter where life took them, no matter what happened; they were friends, and the best of friends at that.
Forever!
Larry took one last look out over the lake, then taking a deep breath to allow his lungs to fill with the fresh night air, said with a heavy sigh, “Well all, I guess it’s about time to saddle up and get on the road.”
Vicky and Brad simply nodded their heads in agreement. They all stood, and hand in hand walked slowly to Larry’s car, knowing, as only true friends could know, that this bond, the special promise made this night, could not, would not ever be broken.
They were now, and forever, “The Three Musketeers”.