The Last Laugh

I want you to picture an eleven-year-old boy skimming stones on the banks of the Hudson River just outside of West Point. It was a cool October morning in 2003, and the leaves paint an autumn picture no artist’s brush can quite do justice. The boy wears a Beat Navy hoodie, with the front pocket starting to sag from the choice stones he has picked from the sides of the nearby railroad tracks. He skims stones when he is stressed, and up until last night the biggest stress in his life was worrying about striking out in the playoffs or failing a test.

              That boy was me twenty-one years ago. That scene on the riverbank would have made a great Norman Rockwell painting, but instead it was Norman Bates holding the easel. I will not talk about what I was down there stressing over, only that I suspect everything that happened was tied together. Not all life-changing decisions are bad, but they are the ones that give us insomnia and make us hate the six letters W-H-A-T-I-F.

              Anyone who knows anything about skimming stones will tell you that rivers are terrible for this activity. The river’s current causes ripples on the top, and the Hudson River has one of the strongest currents of any river in the world. Beggars can’t be choosers. On calm days I managed five skims, and that was my personal best on the Hudson. That day looked like it could be a record-breaking day. With the right stone I knew I could manage six on the river and seven was not out of the question.

              I had collected a few decent stones but wanted better and ended up finding the mother of all skipping stones. It was flat and a perfect weight. It even had a notch in it that I could curl my index finger into to get that perfect spin upon release. I put the stone into the right front pocket of my Levi’s. I began practicing with the other stones I had found. Three stones in and I was already up to five skims. I thought eight might be possible on that day. Even with the severity of the previous evening’s events weighing on me, I felt better with my mind distracted. I was about to throw another practice stone when movement caught my attention out of the corner of my eye.

I looked down the riverbank to the railroad tracks alongside it coming north. It was a man. It seemed as if he appeared from nowhere. He was no more than fifty yards away. You could see for at least a mile down the tracks before there was a bend, so where had he come from. He was dressed in a tee shirt and jeans with brown hiking boots on. His hair was pulled back into a blond ponytail that reached the middle of his shoulder blades. I watched him as he approached with his lanky gait. When he was less than ten yards away, I could read the writing on his tee shirt. What would Jesus do?

He stopped five yards away and smiled at me. His brown eyes seemed pleasant, but his smile seemed forced. Then his smile seemed genuine, but his eyes had a flash of malice. I blinked my eyes several times looking at the human enigma whose mouth and eyes could not get on the same page. He said, “Good day to be skimming stones. I don’t think I’ve ever seen the Hudson so calm. I bet if a boy put his mind to it, he could skim a stone all the way across to the other side.”

The Stanger Danger sign, that every rational parent plugs into their child, was glowing in bright neon colors over this guy’s head. I clutched the rest of the rocks in my hoodie’s front pocket in case he made a move for me. I played third base because I had the best arm on my team and would put that arm to use if this guy tried something. Trying to sound calm and confident I said, “Not a chance. I come down here a lot and have not even come close to getting a stone halfway across. My friend Eddie who should have been here by now is even better than me and he can’t get it halfway.” I was proud of myself for the impromptu lie I just came up with. He might think twice if he thought another person could come along at any second.

“I bet you come down here to think. It’s very peaceful. Something on your mind?”

“My mom does not want me talking to strangers.”

“And your mom is right. I just can’t help but think you made a big mistake recently by the look on your face. One you think you can’t come back from.”

Could he possibly know what I did just from the look on my face? “Like I said, my mom would be mad at me right now.”

“For what you did, or for talking to me?”

“Both, I mean talking to you.”

“I see. I don’t want you to get in trouble with mom, but before I go may I suggest something to cheer you up?”

“What?”

“A chance to win something in a wager.”

“You think my mom would want me betting with a stranger when I’d be in trouble just for talking to one?”

He smiled again and wouldn’t you know it, his eyes were no longer brown. They were as blue as the Pacific Ocean. “You’re a smart boy, but I don’t think you listen to mom all the time. A wager might lift your spirits, especially if you win.”

“I don’t have any money.”

“I never wager for money.”

“What do ya mean?

“Money is boring. Let me tell you what I propose, and you can make up your mind if it is something you want to take me up on. I bet you I can skim a stone all the way across the river.”

“You mean all the way to the other side. The stone will keep skipping until it hits dry land on the other side?”

“That’s right.”

“Impossible.”

“Then what have you got to lose?”

“I don’t know. You did not say what the bet was.”

“You used the word impossible. If the task is impossible then it does not matter what you or I put on the table as they say. Whatever I wager will be lost and you have no worries. Make sense?”

“I guess.”

He put his hand behind his back and seemed to be fidgeting with something on his belt. Then he brought his hand back around and in it was a large knife like the one Sylvester Stallone used in his Rambo movies. It was still in its carrier. He tossed it underhand at my feet. This is when a rational person should have run, but an eleven-year-old boy does not process things in his mind rationally. To me, that knife was not just the coolest thing in the world, but now I thought I was safe. He just gave me his weapon, which I did not know he had. No person who intended me harm would give up his weapon. The Stranger Danger sign was growing dimmer by the second, when it should have been flashing run for your fucking life.

I managed to pry my eyes off the knife and looked at the stranger and said, “I have nothing to bet.”

“What’s your name?”

“Johnny.” I said without thinking.

“Johnny is it. This reminds me of an old country song that took place in Georgia. Not one of my favorites but maybe the outcome will be different this time. We all have something we can wager.”

“I don’t have any money, Mister.”

“I told you I never wager for money. How about a promise?”

“A promise?”

“A promise to do something for me in the future.”

“What?”

“Does it matter? You said yourself that skimming a rock all the way to the other side is impossible.”

“It is, but you could ask for anything.”

“I suppose you are right. I guess I’ll be taking my knife back.”

How could I give this man back his knife? I looked at him and for the first time his eyes and smile were in concert. His eyes were hungry, and he wiped drool from the corner of his grin. There was no way I was handing him back the instrument of my demise. “You got yourself a bet.”

His wolfish grin disappeared, but he was no longer the tall, thin figure I saw walking toward me. He seemed considerably shorter now, and his chest and arm muscles bulged against his tee shirt. His hair was light brown, but maybe it was the angle of the sun, and I had mistaken it as blond. His eyes had changed again. They looked like those of a cheap sock puppet, black and lifeless. With a voice that had more sincerity in it than a priest in a confessional he said, “Don’t make this wager if you don’t want to. Remember that if you lose, I can ask you to do anything. Is that worth the piece of metal in your hand?”

“There is no way you can skim a stone across the Hudson. I don’t have to worry about doing anything for you.”

His smile was back, but this time it seemed genuine. His puppet eyes were still anchored in their sockets and hard to look at. Through his smile he said, “That a boy, Johnny. I like a kid with guts, but I’m going to ask one favor.”

“Wait a second, Mister. You didn’t say anything about any favors.”

As he spoke, he never took his eyes off my right, front pocket. “I’m not trying to slip one by you because this may benefit you as well. If I’m going to accomplish this impossible task, I’m going to need the perfect stone. One that’s flat and a good weight and possibly has a notch in it to get some extra spin on it. Maybe you’ve seen one.”

How could he know? I took the remaining rocks out of my sweatshirt pocket and held them out to him in my cupped hands. “You want any of these?”

“No.” He answered immediately. “Listen very carefully, Johnny. I am someone who returns a favor. Some people don’t think so, but I always play fair. People who make deals with me always get what they bargained for. Now, I’m going to ask you again. I’m looking for a very special stone that will skim all the way to the other side. If you help me find that stone, I might consider this bet a push, meaning I’ll go my way, and you go yours. I’ll just be an interesting story you can tell your friends instead of something else. Something … well … let’s just say something different.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Besides, why should I help you win a bet against me?

“I offered you a push, a tie, a stalemate which is the best anyone can do with me. Seems like you are a bold boy who wants to roll the dice. Last chance to back out of the bet and last chance to help me find the perfect stone. What’s it going to be, Johnny?”

The weight of the knife felt heavy in my hand, but it also felt right. It gave me courage to look this adult in the eye and say, “Maybe you’re the one who wants to back out.”

“We have ourselves a bet.” He never took his eyes off mine as he went down on one knee and scooped a random stone from beside the railroad track. He stood and said, “Keep your eyes on the stone.” He did not even walk down to the water’s edge. He threw the stone from where he was standing, and I witnessed the impossible.

Twenty-one giant skips to the east side of the Hudson where it landed in the high grass. I was convinced I would wake up in my bed any moment, but the feel of the knife in my right hand was impossibly real. I turned and looked back at the man. He had hints of gray in his hair and goatee. Did he have facial hair all along? He said, “A bets a bet.”

Dumbfounded I said, “I can’t believe what I just saw. Are you some kind of magician.”

“I’ve been accused of black magic and sorcery, but those are just words to describe something people don’t understand. What you see is what you get.”

“I guess you are going to want something from me.”

“Indeed, I do. You will pay up won’t you, Johnny?”

“I guess it depends on what it is.”

“That’s not the way this works. I explained everything to you.”

“Well, what is it that you want?”

“I want you to kill someone.”

I don’t know how, but I knew he was not kidding. “You’re joking.”

“By the look in your eyes I’m pretty sure you know I’m serious.”

“I’m not killing anyone, and you can’t make me.”

“I can’t argue with you there. People often make that mistake about me. I can’t jump into your body and take possession of you, but I can give you an ultimatum. You made a wager with me and lost. I want my soul, and if you won’t give me one, I’ll take yours.”

I took the knife out of its carrier, pointed it at the man and said, “Don’t come near me.”

“Take a look around, Johnny. I do all my business in places like this. Empty places where the screams of little boys go unheard. Places where very bad things happen to good and not so good people. Places that become folklore to tales of dismemberment, torture and the debasement of the human soul.”

I felt the warmth in front of my Levis and shame in my heart. How stupid I must have looked. A terrified boy waving a knife who had just wet himself. “Please leave me alone.” I said as the tears poured down my cheeks.

“C’mon, Johnny, do you think I have not seen this before. The smell of piss and tears has ceased to turn me on. If that was for my benefit you wasted a totally good pair of underwear.” Then for the first time he raised his voice. “I will however be licking those tears from your face as I rip the soul from your body. You have never felt pain like that I can assure you.” Then in a whisper. “But only if you don’t hold up your end of the wager. I don’t care who you kill, Johnny. Kill a homeless person. Walk into a hospital and kill someone on their deathbed for all I care, but I want my soul, and it will come from you one way or another.”

I don’t know how I formulated the word in my mouth, but it came out. “When?”

“Very good, Johnny. How fitting we are in the month of October. Twenty-one skips across the river, so I will give you twenty-one years from this October. You have until the end of Halloween in 2024. If I don’t have what I want by midnight on that Halloween I will be coming for you. If a beautiful place like this can now haunt your dreams, just think of the place I will take you to extract that soul of yours.”

He turned and continued walking north along the railroad tracks. I threw the knife into the river. I thought if I held it any longer some unknown poison would seep into my bloodstream from its handle. When I thought it was safe I ran for my bike and pedaled home as fast as I could, only to see numerous police cars parked in my driveway. I spent the next hour riding around so my pants would dry, saving me the embarrassment of explaining that to strangers.

The one thing I did not get rid of was the stone in my pocket. I still have it to this day. A reminder of the stupid things we place value on in life. I do not have much time left to make good on the wager I lost twenty-one years ago. I’ve come close a few times, but murder is a one-time deal for me and suicide seems like the way to go. I have no intention of letting him take me to a place where even nightmares are afraid to go. He can have my soul, but it will be on my terms. I’ll have the stone with me when I do it. I wrote a message on it with a black Sharpie and hope the person who finds me knows it was not meant for them. It reads, Stick it up your ass.