Me and this boy dove down to the bottom of the lake and scooped up cold, black mud.
I had a magnet brain for bodies in dark places and good mud.
It’s the wad of mud you don’t see coming that paints you.
To play, one person threw an ashtray into the lake while the other person dove for it.
Back then with the baby ducks disappearing, if you looked out on the lake you’d see a shadow lurking beneath the surface.
The other boy burst from the water, gasping for breath, and clung to me. “I’m tired,” he said. “I can’t keep looking for the shell.”