The sky to the west is a dark grey that gives a peculiar contrast to the brighter eastern clouds. After a steady afternoon rain the feeling of fall sits heavily in my room. In my mind I’m in the 8th grade again, the day not unlike this one. I get off the bus in front of my best friend’s house which sits on three or four acres of semi-wooded land behind my neighborhood. To get home, I’ll have to take the path through the woods. It’s stopped raining and the leaves are silent under my feet as I make my way, the only thing that can be heard is the constant dripping of water from the ever-reddening trees. I pass over the old barbed-wire fence and around the spot where the hornets had built their nest. With my house just in sight I stop…and wait.
I look over my shoulder to make sure no one is looking as I stand there waiting for what seems no reason at all. No one is. After a few more minutes I hear a familiar diesel engine. My bus has made the left turn into my cul-de-sac. It makes a slow circle past my house, then right, heading back out of the neighborhood. It’s safe. I can head home now, confident that Christine still doesn’t know where I live.
… begging the obvious question, “Who is Christine?”
That question begs the great followup, “Why did you not want her to know where you lived?”
Geof F. Morris
October 19th, 2004
shall I just tell you? or do you wanna hear the story?
or a better question…do I want to just tell you, or do I wanna tell the story.
brian
October 19th, 2004
let’s hear the story.
karen
October 19th, 2004
I’ll bet Christine is an annoying little girl who has a crush on you. Or maybe she’s part of the mob and you owe her $5.
I’ll have to stay tuned to find out.
Roger
October 20th, 2004