It was May. School was almost over for the year, even now it was only half-days. After class, what to do with the rest of the day–go home? Boring. Not just boring but the noise of his sisters and mother, the T.V. blaring reality shows was too much to take. After the chaos and roar of school, all he wanted was a quiet place to–to what? Think? Rest? Just be.
The sun was hot for May, 90 degrees. He put on his baseball hat and sunglasses, swung his backpack over his shoulder and instead of riding the school bus home, he strode off the school grounds and headed to the river–through the suburban neighborhood of manicured lawns. The streets were shaded by huge magnolia trees, chestnuts and oaks. An occasional car speed by him as he walked–facing traffic.
Finally, he came upon a path to the river, a path through the woods–a deer path. He followed it, past the creek, behind the houses, down to the river bank. The river was wide and fast–nothing but water and ripples marking where the current flowed. He sat down on a fallen tree trunk, tossed his backpack on the ground and rested with only the river noises for company.
It only took two days before the neighborhood social media, “Nextdoor” buzzed with comments–a suspicious person in a baseball hat, The police came–trespassing was the charge.
© Glenda Kotchish
May 2021
“Granddaughter, you are right. This place, home, feels magical. And it’s not just the memories of play tea parties on the patio with you, or the building of little sand castles here on the beach park. Let me tell you the real story, or a part of it anyway. Interested?”