Grassy Road
I live on a roughly paved road with deep ditches running alongside the road
and through concrete tubes under every driveway. At the end of my driveway is
a wide strip of blue-gray granite rocks. I throw rocks over the powerline running
from the street to the lightpole on the side of the house, which connects our
house to electricity.
I just learned to ride my bike on the driveway. It took me a long time, but
one day I just did it all by myself. I don't tell people that I was riding my
sisters sparklie purple girls bike with a white banana seat and streamers shooting
out of the handles. I only ride it now when I want to make long black skid marks
on the driveway. The bike I ride now is a BMX dirt bike! I know this neighborhood
on two wheels and pedal power. Quick to jump off with a fast snap of the pedal
brakes to examine a space, a tree stump, a rock, a leaf.
Up the street on the corner is a log cabin that a dentist built. He gives out
toothbrushes for Halloween. The log cabin is on the top of a hill that is scary
to ride a bike down, but I do it a lot. I'm not afraid. I walk down this hill
to wait for the school bus in the morning. I have a pile of gravel on the side
of the road that tells me exactly where to wait.
Down the street, on the bend in the road, is a tiny church with a tall steeple.
I always think it's abandoned, but I go to church too; twice on Sunday and once
on Wednesday. I'm never home when they congregate. My mom found a body hanging
from a tree at this church. There is a shortcut to the high school through the
church grounds; we use the track and field to run. Well, my mom runs and I play
in the long jump sandpit, on the high jump mat, and underneath the bleachers.
He had hung himself with a seatbelt from his car.
Our neighbors across the street were our closest family friends before they
moved away. I went to the same school as their kids. Their mom watched me after
school. She made me fold their laundry. My mom and their dad worked downtown
together. We built our decks and above-ground pools together. They came over
once when the power was out cause of so much snow cause we had a wood fireplace.
We watched Superman on a battery operated TV and built domino trails across
the living room furniture.
They moved away and my parents are getting separated. My dad comes over to the
house after work to pretend to the neighbors he still lives here. He backs out
of our long driveway with his lights off at night and goes to his apartment.
His apartments don't let kids live there. But we can stay for the weekend and
swim in the pool.
In my neighborhood I know all the shortcuts, the bumps in the road, the scary
dogs, the puddles, and the hills. I know it all because I am an explorer. I
don't need guidance. I need space. I go where I want to go because my parents
trust me and I'll get in trouble if I go someplace I'm not supposed to.
Next door to our house is a small patch of trees called "the woods."
The woods carry my secrets and giggles safely below the branch line and close
to the ground. You can't tell by looking but there is a fort in there with naturally
formed rooms with low, overhanging branches from saplings shadowed by tall pine
trees creating a forest floor constantly in shade. I use bunches of dead pine
needles to sweep paths from the entry point to each room. I have emergency exits
and am always running escape drills. Through the woods towards the back of the
property is a secret, hidden room low to the ground. The trees are thicker the
further back you go. Nobody can see me in there.
The neighbors on the other side of the woods is an older man and woman. He is
missing some of his fingers.
One of the kids across the street that moved away, Hannah, was my first crush.
When adults aren't around I am allowed to like girls. Me, the valiant and sensitive
prince, rescuing the distressed princess being held captive and beautiful. She
is a few years older than me, tall and skinny to my young and chubby. Her brother
and my sister were the obvious "couple" when we played, when we pretended
to be adults. I don't always want to play the boy, but I DO want to kiss the
girl.
Just outside the woods is a group of three tall pine trees, too close to one
another to string a hammock. I love their age and their comfort. These are my
evergreens - alive and blooming all year with pine cones in winter. The floor
of this three tree forest is made of dry, brown pine needles, sharp and pokey
on bare feet and slippery on bike tires.
In the very back of the side yard, the one with the light pole, as far back
from the street as an acre is, is an opening in the trees. The ground is always
thick and muddy, and the smell of sewage hangs in the air with the heavy humidity
of a rainforest - thick grass, draping vines, and cool moist moss. We bury dead
puppies here. My dog Jesse had two litters of puppies. Her entire first litter
died, and one pup from the second litter died. My dad buried them in tiny shoeboxes
and marked their graves with two sticks tied together to make a cross.
* * * * * *
Retained in my memory is the image of this house fading and shrinking, the end of the driveway with its granite rocks eventually vanishing out of sight going around the bend in the road. The neighbors across the street had already left town, moving a distance that promised their family fidelity, but promised mine loss. It has only been in recent thought that this home has lost the idealistic sparkle I'd given it my whole life. My parents marriage began to deteriorate in this house. I began observing, questioning, interpreting, and suppressing my gender here. The diet started in this house. But I also learned to ride my bike here, and did my greatest early childhood exploration here, when the world is made of endless possibilities and innocence is as real as the foundation that house stands on. I had my first crush on a girl in this neighborhood, when the idea of my little kid self was allowed to love as big as I could imagine.
April 21, 2007
Thursday Night Write