They continued on through the fallen pear orchard and saw a flock of ducks rise at their
approach. And as this memory recedes away, it becomes less fictitious in the recalling
excavations. Those boys are returning as I speak, as I type; those moments those days of my brother and me; they are still riding.
“I want to go home.” said Steve.
“Go home? Why?” David, as the older, more brave, brother with its overbearing color and tone.
“Can we just go home. I’m tired.”
David felt guilty at his condescension. He remembered that first day their Mom and Dad
brought Steve home. This was the best friend he had asked for. “Okay, we have been here for a long time. I think I’m tired too.”
When they started for home, David grinned at how they had rode to the far end of the fallen and torn orchard in measures of randomness, in and out and woven and carried wherever the trails went.
At a curve in the trail, the road appeared next to them. A car drove past with a ragged man looking out the window at them, with tired eyes, unswept hair, and the shine of his car.
They kicked forward their legs and cranked their pedals and dredged the dirt beneath the wheels in a hurried pace to get home, while the sun went away and they could feel the row of mountains and their shadows grow large across the valley.
Fun feared urgings tickled their backs and they laughed wearily at each other, looking up with creased faces, heat stricken by the hard play of the afternoon. And they could feel the day melting away, making a relic of itself, for them to remember no more that they had wandered through those fields--until today.
They rode, immobile as it seemed. Never fast enough to get home before the charred
darkness caught them. With a hurried chase they wound through the trails--it
occurred to David that they might ride the road around and back home. But they were tied to this path and no other way could be gotten, down past the rows of gray and black bones--of upturned trees, and the tottering of weed and grass and shallow waters waiting in discarded places.
Oh, but this was their fun. Just like when they were young, running to their beds as soon as the door closed them in their beds and the darkness with its hidden creatures make their hidden appearances. And they laughed in fear at the night and their flight.
This night, David wasn’t lucky, downing his bike and his knee into the rocks and dirt and what lay beneath. The bike lay gouged into his side, not enough to penetrate his skin, enough to bruise and bite the sides of his bones. For a moment he lay there, waiting for the pain to arrive. He cursed the ground.
Steve, close behind stopped with little able to do or to help, but rather than leaving him there he offered help.
“No, you go on home. I will be home. Just let me sit here for a while.”
Steve took to the suggestion and went on home without him.
And David lay there, with his pain in his legs and the tiredness of it climbing on to his skin and producing a sweat like the sweat of the day. All was silent but the grass and distant cars driving and the hum of tires on pavement. He sat, crouched and wrecked in the foliage, and he knew no one would see him. No one would know he was there. He lay his back down on the sweetness of the hard turf; he was a half mile away. If he sat up, he could see the road to the house. Laying down he could turn his eyes and see the old building standing there like some dead observer of the orchards. He wondered if anything or anyone was inside, peering out of the dark windows, looking after him. And the clouds turned above him, watching them move about, playing while the sunshine was away...this he wondered. Do the cloud billow in a different fashion during the night? Do they race or do they sleep?
Sketched in the distance he could see the tops of the houses. He thought of how the
people inside of all the houses were comfortable and warm. They were probably sitting in their comfortable couches, drinking sweet drinks and watching television while he, he sat here in the dirt, without hope but to get up off the ground and get home. This is what happened in the thoughts in his mind while the pain receded from his body, and he would be able to get up and go.
He sat up, looked around him. He did not want to leave this quietness that was frightening and peaceful. He told himself that there was really nothing out there that would hurt him, harm him. He heard an angry dog bark. It sounded like it was in this same field he now sat in. Dogs can smell things, smell people. It could soon find him. If it came, he would have to make friends with it or die.
Yet he did not want to leave. He would put his head down and sleep right where he lay. He put his head down upon a clump of tall grass, like a threaded pillow. He smelled the wind coming by. He could smell the flavors off the grass and the rotting shallow pond not far. He could hear his breath, breathing. What if he could die here. Right now. This wouldn’t be so bad. Not such a bad place to die. They might not find him for days. Oh but his brother would know where to find him. Would he say? Or would he keep it all a secret mystery for everyone to solve. Maybe his brother would be afraid to return to the field if he knew his brother was dead.
That would be okay. David understood. Dead bodies are creepy. That is what they would find when they had looked everywhere but there in the field. It would be months before anyone would come across his body.
It may have been an hour when the fears of the lonely field made him jump up and on to his bike. He had to get home.
excavations. Those boys are returning as I speak, as I type; those moments those days of my brother and me; they are still riding.
“I want to go home.” said Steve.
“Go home? Why?” David, as the older, more brave, brother with its overbearing color and tone.
“Can we just go home. I’m tired.”
David felt guilty at his condescension. He remembered that first day their Mom and Dad
brought Steve home. This was the best friend he had asked for. “Okay, we have been here for a long time. I think I’m tired too.”
When they started for home, David grinned at how they had rode to the far end of the fallen and torn orchard in measures of randomness, in and out and woven and carried wherever the trails went.
At a curve in the trail, the road appeared next to them. A car drove past with a ragged man looking out the window at them, with tired eyes, unswept hair, and the shine of his car.
They kicked forward their legs and cranked their pedals and dredged the dirt beneath the wheels in a hurried pace to get home, while the sun went away and they could feel the row of mountains and their shadows grow large across the valley.
Fun feared urgings tickled their backs and they laughed wearily at each other, looking up with creased faces, heat stricken by the hard play of the afternoon. And they could feel the day melting away, making a relic of itself, for them to remember no more that they had wandered through those fields--until today.
They rode, immobile as it seemed. Never fast enough to get home before the charred
darkness caught them. With a hurried chase they wound through the trails--it
occurred to David that they might ride the road around and back home. But they were tied to this path and no other way could be gotten, down past the rows of gray and black bones--of upturned trees, and the tottering of weed and grass and shallow waters waiting in discarded places.
Oh, but this was their fun. Just like when they were young, running to their beds as soon as the door closed them in their beds and the darkness with its hidden creatures make their hidden appearances. And they laughed in fear at the night and their flight.
This night, David wasn’t lucky, downing his bike and his knee into the rocks and dirt and what lay beneath. The bike lay gouged into his side, not enough to penetrate his skin, enough to bruise and bite the sides of his bones. For a moment he lay there, waiting for the pain to arrive. He cursed the ground.
Steve, close behind stopped with little able to do or to help, but rather than leaving him there he offered help.
“No, you go on home. I will be home. Just let me sit here for a while.”
Steve took to the suggestion and went on home without him.
And David lay there, with his pain in his legs and the tiredness of it climbing on to his skin and producing a sweat like the sweat of the day. All was silent but the grass and distant cars driving and the hum of tires on pavement. He sat, crouched and wrecked in the foliage, and he knew no one would see him. No one would know he was there. He lay his back down on the sweetness of the hard turf; he was a half mile away. If he sat up, he could see the road to the house. Laying down he could turn his eyes and see the old building standing there like some dead observer of the orchards. He wondered if anything or anyone was inside, peering out of the dark windows, looking after him. And the clouds turned above him, watching them move about, playing while the sunshine was away...this he wondered. Do the cloud billow in a different fashion during the night? Do they race or do they sleep?
Sketched in the distance he could see the tops of the houses. He thought of how the
people inside of all the houses were comfortable and warm. They were probably sitting in their comfortable couches, drinking sweet drinks and watching television while he, he sat here in the dirt, without hope but to get up off the ground and get home. This is what happened in the thoughts in his mind while the pain receded from his body, and he would be able to get up and go.
He sat up, looked around him. He did not want to leave this quietness that was frightening and peaceful. He told himself that there was really nothing out there that would hurt him, harm him. He heard an angry dog bark. It sounded like it was in this same field he now sat in. Dogs can smell things, smell people. It could soon find him. If it came, he would have to make friends with it or die.
Yet he did not want to leave. He would put his head down and sleep right where he lay. He put his head down upon a clump of tall grass, like a threaded pillow. He smelled the wind coming by. He could smell the flavors off the grass and the rotting shallow pond not far. He could hear his breath, breathing. What if he could die here. Right now. This wouldn’t be so bad. Not such a bad place to die. They might not find him for days. Oh but his brother would know where to find him. Would he say? Or would he keep it all a secret mystery for everyone to solve. Maybe his brother would be afraid to return to the field if he knew his brother was dead.
That would be okay. David understood. Dead bodies are creepy. That is what they would find when they had looked everywhere but there in the field. It would be months before anyone would come across his body.
It may have been an hour when the fears of the lonely field made him jump up and on to his bike. He had to get home.
