Post by RebeccaJ_Allen on Jul 9, 2022 14:49:03 GMT -5
Version 2.0. Old version below for reference. Thanks in advance for any feedback!
Friday, October 30th, late afternoon
There are rules for kids in Collinsville. Rules like, “Don’t play in the old mill buildings, the roofs will fall on your head.” I didn’t want my brains bashed in by a hundred-year-old roof. Still, one of the old mill buildings has only half a roof. If I stay on the side with no roof, I’ve got nothing to worry about, right?
There are rules for kids in Collinsville. Rules like, “Don’t play in the old mill buildings, the roofs will fall on your head.” I didn’t want my brains bashed in by a hundred-year-old roof. Still, one of the old mill buildings has only half a roof. If I stay on the side with no roof, I’ve got nothing to worry about, right?
The real rule is, “Don’t get caught in the old mill buildings.”
I glide down Main Street on my bike, passing the two old geezers playing chess on the porch of the ice cream shop. One’s wrinkly skin is white, the other’s is brown like mine. They wear old, scratchy-looking wool jackets to ward off the chill October air and baseball caps. One supports the Rex Sox like Connecticut folks are supposed to and the other supports the Yankees, like a traitor.
They’re always here, on Main Street. Their favorite haunts are the ice cream shop’s porch and the bar of the Crown & Hammer pub across the street. Both spots give them front-row views for spying on what Collinsville’s kids are up to. It’s like they consider tattling on us their job.
But there’s no real risk that the geezers or any other Collinsville adult will catch me in my favorite old mill building. The ones that are good as hideouts are way down a grassy trail along the deserted side of the Farmington River. So really, the rule is, “Don’t get caught heading toward the old mill buildings” and making someone suspicious about what you’re up to.
So I won’t.
“Ready for the Halloween parade, Julian?” Red Socks asks as I pass.
“Absolutely,” I say and give the geezers nod.
They nod back; their eyes continue to track me.
My brakes groan as I slow and look left and right for traffic. Seeing none, I cross Main Street and peddle to the narrow wooden bridge that crosses the river on the side everyone likes. The bike’s wheels thump over the planks and I hover my butt an inch above the seat so I don’t get jostled.
This side of the river has a smooth, paved rails-to-trails path that goes on for miles. On a sunny weekend day, it’s filled with everyone from serious bikers to moms pushing strollers. Today, the sky’s gray and there’s a stiff breeze. Still, I pass a couple clumps of walkers and a high schooler I recognize on roller blades.
The geezers, whose eyes are probably on my back right now, will think I’m off for a ride or to hang out with Lex. Lex’s house is just across the bridge.
But at the end of the bridge I turn right, pedaling hard to pick up speed. I pass Lex’s place and several more small, neatly painted houses, then head back to the center of town via Bridge Street. I’m hidden from the geezers’ prying eyes by the line of shops between me and them.
If the adults don’t see it, it never happened.
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Thanks in advance for any feedback!
Friday, October 30th, late afternoon
There are rules for kids in Collinsville. Rules like, “Don’t play in the old mill buildings, the roofs will fall on your head.” I didn’t want my brains bashed in by a hundred-year-old roof. Still, one of the old mill buildings has only half a roof. If I stay on the side with no roof, I’ve got nothing to worry about, right?
The real rule is, “Don’t get caught in the old mill buildings.” Its corollary is, “Don’t get your head bashed in.” It doesn’t matter whether my head’s bashed in by a falling-down roof or something else entirely. Either way, I’m worm food.
I glide down Main Street on my bike, passing the two old geezers playing chess on the porch of the ice cream shop. One’s wrinkly skin is white, the other’s is brown like mine. They wear old, scratchy-looking wool jackets to ward off the chill October air and baseball caps. One supports the Rex Sox like Connecticut folks are supposed to and the other supports the Yankees, like a traitor.
Whether they’re arguing about baseball teams or scowling at each other across the chess board, they are always here, on Main Street. Their favorite haunts are the ice cream shop’s porch and the bar of the Crown & Hammer pub across the street. Both spots give them front-row views for spying on what Collinsville’s kids are up to. It’s like they consider tattling on us to our parents their job.
But there’s no real risk that the geezers or any other Collinsville adult will catch me in my favorite old mill building. The ones that are good as hideouts are way down a grassy trail along the deserted side of the Farmington River. So really, the rule is, “Don’t get caught heading toward the old mill buildings” and making someone suspicious about what you’re up to.
So I won’t.
“Ready for the Halloween parade, Julian?” Red Socks asks as I pass.
“Absolutely,” I say and give the geezers nod.
They nod back and then return their attention to their chess pieces.
My brakes groan as I slow and look left and right for traffic. Seeing none, I cross Main Street at the pedestrian walk and peddle to the narrow wooden bridge that crosses the river on the side everyone likes. It has a smooth, paved rails-to-trails path that goes on for miles, all the way up to Simsbury and down to Farmington. The bike’s wheels thump over the bridge’s planks and I hover my butt an inch above the seat so I don’t get jostled.
The geezers, whose eyes are probably on my back right now, will think I’m off for a ride or to hang out with Lex. Lex’s house is just across the bridge. Instead, I’ll circle back and head toward the hideout from the next street over, hidden from prying eyes by the line of shops between me and them.
If the adults don’t see it, it never happened.
