bortleman
02-23-2011, 09:52 PM
He sits on the edge of the dock, kicking his feet back and forth. His water logged shoelace bounces across the water sending slow circular ripples across the pastel reflection of the bay line shops. He peeks over the edge of the gray splintering wood and stares at the distorted mirror image.
With a sigh, he places his hands near his hips, and, pushing up, swings his feet onto the rusty nail filled planks. He turns and walks down the row of poorly crafted structures. The smell of grease and oil fill the air as each occupant cooks their evening meal. The boy turns down the next aisle. Many of the buildings are hardly standing as they lean against one another to keep from collapsing.
He reaches a blue tin shack with a trough of daisies hanging from the window. Out floats the smell of home. The boy raps on the door three times and steps away. He waits with his hands in his pockets, scuffing his sneakers on the concrete.
After several moments he pushes the door open a crack and cranes his head to the narrow opening. The small room is empty, and with another press from his hand, the door swings in as he waits at the doorway.
The sunlight is peeling away across the matted brown carpet. A faded orange rug occupies the center of the floor. The boy takes several deliberate steps in while he inspects everything.
The rays of light from the single window are hazy with dust particles, as they dance through his brown hair. A gray television with broken antennas sits on a sagging particle board shelf. There is a note attached to it. The boy spots the letter and tears it from its place. He holds it in his palm, starring down at it. Then, he folds the paper up and shoves it into his back pocket.
He skips his way out of the shack, pulling the door behind him. It follows him out, but stays ajar, never fully closing. He leaves the docks and heads up the street. Dull blue, gray, and tan buildings, stacked without space between them, highlight the horizon as he walks up the cracked concrete road.
The sun is giving way to the blue hues of dusk as he reaches the soccer field at the top of the hill. Lofty eucalyptus trees dot the perimeter of the area. A team of girls scamper up and down the grass, making gleeful shouts. The boy rests his hands on the fence surrounding the field. While he watches, his fingers pick away at the cracking green paint on the metal.
A few short bleats are blown from a whistle, and the girls disperse to the sidelines.
“Hey Sara!” the boy says waving his arms in the air. A lanky brunette girl runs over to meet him. Her puffy red cheeks are spotted with freckles.
“Hi Tommy” she says as she pants for air.
“Hey, I found this at my house. Can you read it for me?” the boy says as he pulls the creased note from his pocket.
“Sure” Sara says as she takes the note and unfolds it. Her eyes slide left to right as she looks over the paper. Her brow furrows as she reads. Looking up at Tommy, she smiles. “Do you want to come eat dinner at my house tonight?”
“You bet I do!” Tommy says in delight. “Your mom makes the best spaghetti I have ever had!”
“It’s the only spaghetti you have ever had Tommy.”
“Oh…right. Let’s go!…Hey! What did that note I gave you say?”
“Oh, um, nothing. It just said that your mom wanted you to stay the night with us for a few days.”
“I wonder where she went…”
"Don't worry about it right now Tommy. We're gonna have fun."
Sara hops over the fence and grabs Tommy’s hand. The two turn up the dirty street. Tommy skips all the way.
With a sigh, he places his hands near his hips, and, pushing up, swings his feet onto the rusty nail filled planks. He turns and walks down the row of poorly crafted structures. The smell of grease and oil fill the air as each occupant cooks their evening meal. The boy turns down the next aisle. Many of the buildings are hardly standing as they lean against one another to keep from collapsing.
He reaches a blue tin shack with a trough of daisies hanging from the window. Out floats the smell of home. The boy raps on the door three times and steps away. He waits with his hands in his pockets, scuffing his sneakers on the concrete.
After several moments he pushes the door open a crack and cranes his head to the narrow opening. The small room is empty, and with another press from his hand, the door swings in as he waits at the doorway.
The sunlight is peeling away across the matted brown carpet. A faded orange rug occupies the center of the floor. The boy takes several deliberate steps in while he inspects everything.
The rays of light from the single window are hazy with dust particles, as they dance through his brown hair. A gray television with broken antennas sits on a sagging particle board shelf. There is a note attached to it. The boy spots the letter and tears it from its place. He holds it in his palm, starring down at it. Then, he folds the paper up and shoves it into his back pocket.
He skips his way out of the shack, pulling the door behind him. It follows him out, but stays ajar, never fully closing. He leaves the docks and heads up the street. Dull blue, gray, and tan buildings, stacked without space between them, highlight the horizon as he walks up the cracked concrete road.
The sun is giving way to the blue hues of dusk as he reaches the soccer field at the top of the hill. Lofty eucalyptus trees dot the perimeter of the area. A team of girls scamper up and down the grass, making gleeful shouts. The boy rests his hands on the fence surrounding the field. While he watches, his fingers pick away at the cracking green paint on the metal.
A few short bleats are blown from a whistle, and the girls disperse to the sidelines.
“Hey Sara!” the boy says waving his arms in the air. A lanky brunette girl runs over to meet him. Her puffy red cheeks are spotted with freckles.
“Hi Tommy” she says as she pants for air.
“Hey, I found this at my house. Can you read it for me?” the boy says as he pulls the creased note from his pocket.
“Sure” Sara says as she takes the note and unfolds it. Her eyes slide left to right as she looks over the paper. Her brow furrows as she reads. Looking up at Tommy, she smiles. “Do you want to come eat dinner at my house tonight?”
“You bet I do!” Tommy says in delight. “Your mom makes the best spaghetti I have ever had!”
“It’s the only spaghetti you have ever had Tommy.”
“Oh…right. Let’s go!…Hey! What did that note I gave you say?”
“Oh, um, nothing. It just said that your mom wanted you to stay the night with us for a few days.”
“I wonder where she went…”
"Don't worry about it right now Tommy. We're gonna have fun."
Sara hops over the fence and grabs Tommy’s hand. The two turn up the dirty street. Tommy skips all the way.