The two boys had been walking down the river for a little over an hour. They’d left their boots a little ways back, propped up on a rock to dry, and carefully made their way across the gravel floor of the river.

“We should catch some crayfish,” Gary said. He pried up a large rock and hefted it over. It splashed and kicked up soot. He watched and waited for the murk to settle. No crayfish.

“Would be great to have some girls out here with us,” Clarence said, watching Gary.

Gary didn’t answer. He was waiting for a cloud of debris to clear. “What’d you say?”

“Girls. Yessir. Always nice to have a girl around when you want one,” Clarence said. He had told the story earlier of when he lost his virginity. It was in a closet with a friend of his older brother. She was sixteen.

“You know. I never even kissed a girl before. I’ve pecked one, but—“

“That don’t count.”

“Yeah, I know.” Gary ran his foot across a slime-covered stone. “You were eleven?”

“Yeah. At a party. We drank forties until the po-po showed up. Then she said, ‘hey, come here’ and lead me into the closet.”

“Hey,” said Gary. He saw something at the edge of the river. He crouched and stalked towards a clump of tall grass.

“What?”

“Shhhh.” He took another step forward and a giant bull frog leapt into the river. Gary dove and flopped belly-down in the water. The water splashed and Gary made a sound like he’d gotten punched in the gut. His hand shot up out of the water, holding the frog with its swamp green legs dangling.

“Let me see,” said Clarence. Gary shoved the frog into Clarence’s face.

He swatted at Gary’s hand. Gary pulled the frog into his chest to protect him. “It’s just a frog. Calm down.”

“Yeah, and I don’t want its slimy in my eyes.”

“This one’s nice. Most of them squirm and try to get away. They don’t care if they fall out of your hands either, as long as they get away. Not you though,” Gary said to the frog. “You’re too fat to care.” Gary patted the head of the frog.

Up ahead, the tree line broke and a giant boulder sat in the center of the river like the corpse of an elephant. Near there, in a sunny spot, the boys sat down. Gary set the frog gently on the ground.

“What you gonna do with him?” Clarence asked.

“I don’t know,” said Gary.

The frog sat in the sunlight, lazy and fat. Gary ran a river-cold toe across its back. The frog blinked its eyes.

And then Clarence killed the frog. He didn’t say why. He found a rock so big that he needed two hands to carry, and lumbered it back over to where Gary and the frog sat. He heaved it over his head like a weight lifter doing the clean and jerk, and dropped it. The sound was as loud as a meteor striking a planet.

“What’d you do that for?” Gary said. He lifted the rock and saw the frog, flattened, the guts popped out a hole in the side.

“Rest in peace,” said Clarence. He wiped his hands of rock debris.

Before the boys headed back to the campsite, Gary picked up the frog by its long leg. He dangled it into the water and let it sink to the bottom of the riverbed. The crayfish would clean up the rest.