The Last Picnic

Crystal and Amy were happy to see another school year end, allowing them to put away the rusty bikes which had caused them so much bullying and humiliation from classmates who's parents either provided car pooling or furnished them with the latest model in two wheel transportation. Even after dad regained his driving privileges, the girls were expected to continue making their way to school so long as the weather permitted. Mom never offered to rejoin the carpool.

Now that summer was here, Amy wanted to while away the hours with books from the library and Crystal just wanted to be free again to roam the woods and fields in search of imaginary adventures. She no longer had dads hunting dog for companionship. The winter had been too hard on the old mongrel and he did not survive the bitter cold. Dad had buried him beneath the pear tree out back and had made no effort to replace him.

Once each mornings chores were completed, the girls were shooed outside by their mother and the screen door was locked behind them. They were not expected to re enter the house until called for lunch. Afternoon repeated the mornings schedule and only dinner and the return of their dad from work granted them permission to go back indoors. Mom was far too busy to spend time entertaining them. If they got bored, she would simply find more chores for them to do. So they seldom got bored.

Crystal had turned ten that March and seemed to sprout in all directions at once, becoming gangly and even more uncoordinated than usual. Tripping over things that didn't exist and dropping all things breakable she found herself constantly in disfavor with her father. The company picnic was fast approaching and Crystal knew her dad expected her to participate in the athletic competitions which were provided each year for the family's of all employees. Crystal's dad was usually in charge of these games and purchased elaborate prizes from corporate funds for the winners of each contest. He wanted her to be a winner. Crystal dreaded these picnics, because she knew she could never be a winner.

The day of the picnic, dad packed the family sedan with supplies and food which mom had prepared. He wanted to get an early start setting up the games, so he hurried Crystal and Amy out the door and into the cramped car.

These annual picnics were held at a beautiful park, about twenty five miles from their home. the park was bordered by a creek and provided a large shelter house and lots of shady acreage to explore. It should have been a fun day but somehow Crystal knew if would be just one more agony to endure.

Once they arrived and the car was unpacked, Crystal headed for the creek in search of crawdads. She loves hunting these feisty little crustaceans and only occasionally suffered a pinched finger for her efforts. She knew she couldn't hide from the games once the activities began, but for the moment she was alone and content.

The large pavilion housed an enormous kitchen and was soon packed with every kind of home cooked food and dessert imaginable. Ice cream was plentiful and pop flowed freely. These were delicacies that Crystal and Amy seldom enjoyed at home. But something else was also in abundance. The dark ales which Crystal's dad craved. It wasn't long before he had a full glass in his hand.

Even from the creek, Crystal heard the whistle which signaled the start of the games. Obediently she headed to the area where all the kids were gathered to enter the competitions and earn prizes. Foot races were always first and Crystal waited for her age group to be called to the starting line. Lined up with a dozen children her own age, she saw her dad smile down at her and wink. "I know you'll make me proud girl. You can run like the wind." Dad encouraged. He was right. She could probably out run almost anyone her age, but for some reason fear always turned her usually speedy legs into blocks of wood.

At the sound of the starting pistol, she launched herself forward, but within a matter of only a few yards, she was bumped and jostled in the crowded chaos. Without warning, she tripped and landed in a heap in the middle of the field, allowing the other competitors to race past her.

"Get up girl" She heard her dad scream. "Don't be a quitter. Finish the race." She obeyed slowly by rising to her feet, but she did not re enter the race. Instead, she simply walked off the field in shame, because in her heart she knew she would always be a quitter and a loser.

When the races ended, a new set of games began. Dad grabbed Crystal roughly and said "Come on girl. This game is easy. All you have to do is blow up a balloon. Even you can do that." Crystal knew this game, and dad was right . All you had to do was blow up a stupid balloon, but you weren't declared a winner until you filled the balloon to bursting and allowed it to explode in your face. The very thought of it terrified her. But she reached for a balloon and entered the contest anyway. At the whistle, she began to fill the rubber menace one terrified breath at a time while the crowd roared encouragement. As the balloon grew, so did Crystal's terror. Only half filled, she suddenly released it as if it were a living creature waiting to strike her dead. The humiliation of another failure stung her so deeply that she didn't even realize she was crying.

She'd barely lifted her eyes to meet the dark rage within her fathers, when she felt a slap land hard across her cheek, knocking her off balance. She hit the ground as words of shame rained down on her from above. "Now you've got something to cry about you little sissy!" Her dad spit the words at her. Then he turned and stalked back to the pavilion in search of the beer kegs. Crystal heard first the open gasps from the people around her and then the whispers of obvious disapproval. Were they talking about her act of cowardice, or her dads fit of temper? Since no one came to her aid, she assumed that she was the reason for the whispered contempt. She rose slowly and once again sought the safety of the creek.

The day wore on with lots of fun and laughter on every ones part which Crystal observed quietly from the haven of the trees. She watched her fathers walk become less and less steady: noticed from a distance the slur of his words, but she didn't care because at least he'd forgotten about her. As the sun began to set she saw her mother pack up the car and support dads arm in an effort to pull him toward the vehicle. It was only then that she called Crystal and Amy, announcing firmly that it was time to head home.

Warily, Crystal entered the back seat , grasping Amy's hand quietly as dad got behind the wheel of the car. Gravel spun beneath the tires and they roared out of the parking lot and on to the black top street. With a lit cigarette dangling from his mouth and a cold beer in his hand, dad drove carelessly toward home keeping only one hand on the wheel.

An ember from his lit cigarette landed on Amy and before she could brush it away, it burned a small hole in her new blouse. Mom would be angry about that. As they approached an intersection, dad finished the last of his beer and tossed the glass bottle onto the asphalt where it shattered, scattering glass across the roadway. "OOOOOWEEE didn't we have a fun time today girls?" Dad shouted back at them. Crystal wondered if maybe this time they would not make it home alive. It was going to be a long scary ride.