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THE RAT STOMP

  by

  Michael Allender

  Copyright 2014 Michael Allender

  (The eighth in a series of fourteen stories)

 

  The Rat Stomp

  (Story # 8)

  Ben and his best friend, Billy Hobsome, had a dance they liked to call The Rat Stomp. This activity, held at the local dump ground, was a guy thing: no girls allowed. They should have kept it that way, too, their own private little number. However Ben took me along once, over Billy's protests, and when the sky didn’t fall because I was along, they decided to entertain their dates with it as well. I think they forgot I wasn't exactly like most girls my age.

  Billy was the son of the only doctor in Navasota, Texas, and though I wouldn't say the Hobsomes were rich folks, compared to most families in town, their star rose early and shone bright. The one thing that tied Ben and Billy together was athletics. Billy, the star quarterback on the Navasota football team, loved to throw to Ben, the wide receiver. During the summer the two of them held 'Olympic Games' at the Hobsome's house, an invitational event that drew teenage contestants from miles around. This was also a guy thing, though girls were encouraged as cheerleaders and spectators.

  Ben and Billy often double dated together, an especially fortunate arrangement for Ben, since he had no car. Most of their dates were of the usual variety, like a movie, a football game at Texas A&M, or a private party. I'm sure it was boredom and imagination that first drove them to the dump, and like I said, what went on at the dump, should have stayed at the dump.

  A good place to park with your date was always in demand, and the ideal requirements are specific: It has to be away from prying eyes, human, anyway, and quiet is a plus. And dark. More than anything it needs to be a place your local Sheriff Boggs won't think of as well, and come snooping around just when things start getting interesting. And who in his right mind would want to take his date to the dump? See? It's perfect. I'll bet young boys in every generation make their local mounds of garbage a frequent stopping place. I just doubt many of them make it a frequent stomping place.

  Mrs. Hobsome's car, a ponderous Imperial with a purring engine, glossy pink paint and plenty of well padded upholstery inside, made parking an enjoyable activity almost anywhere—even the dump. The car was immaculate, too, as she had it cleaned, vacuumed, and serviced at least once a week.

  A few acres of publicly acquired land five miles outside Navasota served as the town dump. Well hidden from view, it had a deep ravine on it. In those days the garbage was piled along the ravine's edge where tractors with front-end loaders could push it over after it had burned for a while. Though by any standards an unattractive place, ripe and heavy with the smell of burning garbage, it was not uninhabited. Rats were the local residents, and they ruled the night.

  Dump ground rats are only distantly related to the timorous wee beasty mice we find from time to time in our homes. Lusty beasts, they are, foot long bodies with scaly tails, and faces mean with scars. Hardened opportunists, their eyes glow in the brightness of a flashlight like red-hot coals. Rats practice their own brand of jungle law at the dump. Born as underdogs in the filth and gore from town streets, those left alive by the age of four months are warriors, victors of many pitched battles for space, garbage, or sex mates. Whatever. They know the ropes and the rules of survival, and they live with the terror night can bring. Two particular horrors the Navasota clan had experience with were named Ben and Billy.

  I learned about the boy's Rat Stomp date from a flaxen haired beauty named Corrinth Sawyer. Runner up for the homecoming queen in Ben's junior year, Corrinth was a rather prissy wannabe of the Country Club circle, and she loved to talk. She chalked up boys like a gunfighter cutting notches on a pistol grip, and she had longed to have a go at Ben. She and Gwinn Parker had double dates with Ben and Billy. I doubt Corrinth ever dreamed of being so fortunate as to have the dump ground as the itinerary for her first date with him, or that the Rat Stomp would be the main attraction. She cornered me the next day in school, a Monday, and she had plenty to say. I think I'll just let Corrinth tell you about it in her own words.