She had seven grandchildren and we all lived within a quarter of a mile from each other, except one. My most beloved cousin, but that's a different story.
We lived in the country. We tried to ride skates on our driveways (the skates with keys), but the driveways were made from concrete and were cracked, so that didn't work so well. But we could ride our bikes down the road and make up stories as to who we were and where we were going. "Let's pretend I'm Zorro and you're the Mexican Governor." Which meant, in my nine year old mind, I was going to win. Our local dry cleaners had clothes covers that were fashioned like Zorro's cape, with the big Z on the front. You'd cut out the neck and the arms, put it on, and you were Him. I was Zorro. My male cousin was always the bad guy. I always won.
One day we decided to get really creative. We took our bikes down the road, laid them down. R laid down next to his. I knelt next to him with my hand on his chest. I watched, watched and waited for a car to drive up. I see one coming. I'm about to get the Academy Award. The car stops. I begin screamingly "R has been hit! He's dead!"
Oh holy crap. It's my Grandmommy.
R and I jump up, hop on our bikes and race to R's house.
Oh, holy crap, she's following us.
Someone got a spanking. It wasn't me.
Remember that song, "I got a brand new pair of roller skates you got a brand new key"?
ReplyDeleteI do! Now it's looping in my brain.
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