The Ravine

By Dr. David McMillan

            It is pronounced Raa'veen, not Ruh veen'.

            The Ravine was behind my Grandmother's house. It's five acre woods seemed to be a jungle to me at ten years old. A small creek bubbled through its gorge. The creek was full of tadpoles and the underbrush contained a few harmless snakes and rabbits. But to me the Ravine contained dangerous tigers, bobcats, wolves and fox. The snakes I saw were all rattlesnakes and the rabbits were wolves.   When I told my tales to adults they never seemed very concerned. In the Ravine the reddish clay mound rose fifteen feet above the creek below to form what seemed to me to be a cliff. The trees were mostly pine trees with a few cherry bark oak mixed in. The trees were so straight that they looked like giant strings flowing down from the limbs that were somehow caught in the clouds. In the summer the cool breezes blew up to Grandmother's house from the Ravine were always smelling of pine tar.

            There were five of us that played in this ravine behind my Grandmother's house. Five of us (David, Donnie, Lee, Tommy and me), were cousins - first cousins with the same grandmother. Randy was just a cousin and Raboo and Gary were neighborhood friends. David was the oldest. He and Donnie were brothers. He was twelve and a boy scout good boy who encouraged all of us to get in trouble instead of him. Donnie was nine with a bad temper, but either David or I could beat him in a fight. Lee and Tommy were brothers, too. Lee was nine and a half. He was shy and loved to be included, but was not easily led astray. Tommy was the youngest. He was seven and a half and often the one chosen for our most devious adventures. Randy was pudgy, sullen and smart.   He fought by sitting on his enemies. If he ever got on top of them he won. Raboo was the brightest among us. He did not pretend to be good like David.   He operated us in the spirit of Tom Saywer or Brer Rabbit. Gary was the group jester. He sacrificed his dignity to play bafoon for us upon request. I assumed I was the leader. I would run at the head of our group through the ravine chasing a wolf I glimpsed or I would be the first to take off my clothes and grab at a grapevine and swing from the cliff. When I did this the vine usually broke free from the tree limbs and I was also the first to fall into the creek. Raboo and David used such an occasion to snicker and praise.

            One bright summer afternoon Gary came bicycling down Cherry Street where he could count on us riding in circles in driveways on this deserted dead-end street trying to decide what to do next. He was carrying a brown metal box with a lock.

            "I've got something," he said, "I've got to show you." He opened the box for David. David quickly shut the box and said, "Not here."

            I said, "to the ravine" and I shot into the lead as we peddled as fast as we could to Grandmother's. We parked our bikes in her driveway. Shouts of "What is it?", "Show us!", "Naked women" bounced between our hustling steps as we raced through the kudzu to the privacy and shelter of the trees by the creek below.

            We all strained to look over Gary's shoulders as he opened the box. Rarely did Gary have such an exalted position in the group. He said, "Be quiet, what I'm about the show you is a secret. If my brother knew I had this he would kill me. I've got to take it right back." Then with great care he slowly unlocked and opened the box. As soon as the light broke through the lid we could see breasts - big great ones. We all gasped pushing at each other "Let me see let me see."

            It didn't take long before we were sitting down with the several magazines oogling at pictures of naked women. There was Candy Bar, Lucille L'Amour, Boom Boom Betsy just to name a few. Before we could get a good look Gary was walking around the circle. He said, "Give them back. I've got to take them back. They belong to my brother. He would kill me if he knew I had them."

            "Give them back," I said, "I haven't even begun."

            David Cooley said, "Where did your brother get them?"

            "At Reds News Stand," Gary replied.

            "Well lets go buy us some," I proposed.

            "We are too young," David said.

            This was our first circle. We sat in a small clearing a few feet from the creek across from the cliff. We were completely hidden by underbrush. There Raboo concocted our plan.

            "We can send Tommy into Red's news stand. We will go with him at first. We will find the girly magazines. We will slip one inside the Saturday Evening Post and one inside Life magazine. Then we will leave and let Tommy go to the counter and buy those two magazines. We will wait outside and then take them back to the ravine."

            So off we went to execute our plan. Gary sailed back to his house to replace his brother's stash before it was missed. He returned to meet us in front of Red's news stand with another metal box. This one was empty. He found it in his father's study. Raboo, David, and Lee decided to wait outside. Randy, Tommy, Gary and I went inside.

            Red's News Stand was a thin store front Downtown in Arkadelphia. The ceilings were ten feet tall. The building was darkly lit. The floor was dirty hardwood with the dark finish rubbing off the edges of the boards. On the left just as you entered was a counter. Red stood there behind the counter seemingly guarding the soft drinks and cigars he kept beside him. The magazines and newspapers were displayed in racks that were parallel to the store's front.

            I walked first through the door. Tommy followed me then Randy, then Gary. Gary was our magazine expert. He went to find the girly magazine, as I looked for the Post and Life. Tommy stumbled, when his foot tripped on a loose floor board. He caught himself with his hands. As he stood he looked at his filthy fingers and his face began to tear up. I came to him and said, "Buck up Tommy. You're tough. I'll stay with you." We arranged the magazines as planned. Randy and Gary left. I walked to the counter with Tommy.   Tommy stammered out, "I want these" and put two quarters on the counter. "That'll be fifty three cents," Red said. I reached in my pocket, pulled out three pennies and put them on the counter and said, "Let's go Tommy." I picked up the magazines, put my arm around Tommy and we scurried out.

            Outside we were met by our co-conspirators. Everyone gathered around Tommy. His head seemed to be in continuous motion from head pats and back slappings. "Way to go Tommy," couldn't be said enough. Gary said, "Let me see," but Tommy had given them to David and he replied, "Not here." I said, "Back to the Ravine." And we jumped on our bikes with our anticipatory prepubescent erections and raced back to my Grandmother's house. Once there we threw our bikes at the driveway and ran through the kudzu down to the hidden clearing to resume our circle.

            Gary couldn't wait. He sat down, unzipped his pants and began pumping his penis with his right hand. "Pass me a Babe. God I want those giant Boobs." His urgent need and our presbyterian shock at Gary's immodesty got him his own copy. I don't know who was next, but in a very short time we were all imitating Gary captured in the eroticism of the picture oblivious to our fears of getting caught.

            Once orgasm resolved our interest, our conversation turned to competition. David looked at me and said I came. "I shot my wad."

            "I did too," Raboo said.

            "Me too," said Gary.

            I hadn't, and I was embarrassed that I hadn't produced visible semen, but I was glad I didn't have a mess on my pants like Gary did. Our treasures were put away in the metal file box and hidden in the leaves.

            I left and went home reflecting on what I had participated in. I felt intense guilt. I don't exactly remember how many times we gathered in the ravine or what happened to the magazines. I'm pretty sure our collective guilt served to end our meetings with the beginning of school.

            What I remember most is my continued feeling of shame for having participated in such degradation. I knew this behavior had somehow dammed me to hell. Throughout my adolescence, usually after I had masturbated in private, I would remember this scene and once again feel intense shame.

            These feelings were not resolved until I was a freshman in college. I was walking down the hall of my college dorm toward my room. I watched a friend of mine as he turned the corner and came upon five dorm mates standing in the hall in a circle and he said, "What is this a circle jerk."