REBIRTH: FRESHWATER BOYS

I am not Joseph Doornbos. I am not a hermit. I do not live in a broken down school bus carving little wooden figurines of bears, wolves, deer, or Native Americans.

I am someone else. I am a Freshwater Boy like Darryl Pickle of New Era, Michigan. I am a loner, someone leaving cryptic drawings on tables for others to find.

I am not worried about image: “Kids Darryl’s age liked to think more grimly, that the hermit was a murdering kidnapper, that there were children’s dead bodies sitting upright in all the rows of the bus, seat belts clicked shut across their cold laps.”

I am an observer of the Joseph Doornboses of the world. My observations are not limited to prison. And so I write.

Go ahead, sensationalize my characters, sensationalize my art. But when you do, try to make that sensationalism disappear into the rolling waves of time. Try to baptize it in the freshwater where it will float back to your feet. Then cremate it and sprinkle the freshwater with ash.

It’s true: With all those woodcuts gone, we no longer see our sawdust footprints, and we realize we will not make as big of an impression as one would hope—but those characters: they are as real as the air that we breathe.

Another fine short story collection, “Freshwater Boys,” by Adam Schuitema. The quote and references are from his story “New Era, Michigan.”