Tuesday, August 18, 2015

Listening to my past; loving it's in the present

It’s rainy. Off and on. And muggy, here at Jekyll Island campground, where they spray twice a week for mosquitos, failingly. 

Most of the campers pulled out early this morning because, well, because it’s rainy off and on and the mosquitos wear their bug armour well.

A few families remain, soaking in what might be the final weekend of the summer for the kids to be just kids and not students, too.

I’m sitting inside my RV, just lounging in the air conditioning. And that’s when I hear it.

My childhood. My past.

“Ready or not! HERE I COME!”

And I get very quiet. Pavlov. Shhhh. Don’t move. And, for goodness sakes, do not breathe.

I know it’s coming. Yep. It’s coming. "EEEEEKKKKK!” The high-pitched screech of discovery. Then the pounding of little feet zigzagging "home," dispersing leaves and broken branches, to where it’s safe.

I don’t look out. I just listen. Like to a radio show.

“I see you,”  a little girl says, so quietly and so closely, I think, for a flash, she’s talking to me. But then I hear giggles and another chase. 

Finally, I hear no more game. I peek outside and see two little girls:  a 5-year-old, all in pink, and a 10-year-old with a leg cast on walking around. Maybe they've teamed up to hunt for a hidden little boy I saw earlier.

When they find him, maybe they’ll play Tag, or Simon Sez or Mother May I. Red Light Green Light? 



No comments: