By Janice Abel
Streaking across Nebraska, and now into Iowa, one more stop. Sun-flowers dance on the wayside ahead; my blonde hair blowing in the summer wind. My childhood gathers me in. A meadow-lark makes music on the hot starched summer, its warble strumming on my memory. In our 1968 Cadillac Deville convertible I am racing toward my youth with sweet Ray. He turns his head, his gray blue eyes make even his stiff smile a gentleness. “So, you’ll have to tell me, give me directions,” his forefinger pointing on the grip of the wheel.
“Ray, you know.”
“No, I don’t. Don’t you remember? I’ve been there only once. That was before we were married. A brief Christmas, I recall.”
I sigh, “When we get to town, we’ll take the first turn off Main. It’s not like Chicago. We don’t need a map.”
“I know,” he replies, “I know-- not Chicago.” He checks his watch. “Can’t get back too late.”
“I know,” I tug at his shoulder, “thanks for taking the time for an off course jaunt,” I say and then rest my head on his shoulder.
“Anything for you, my sweet.” He pulls me close. The wind teases at his thinning gray. Oh, how I wish just a bit of this summer feast would touch his heart. It sounds like no other; the sound of calm, clear, bright, the kind of place that takes all the clutter out of your head.
Over the hill I see the town rising- cornfields framing the road, pointing the way.
A small, well dusted sign announces “Wolf Creek population 2365.” We take the gravel entry to Main Street where it soon turns to worn brick.
The click of the wheels on the brick, I am back. My childhood stories simmer up and fill my lungs.
A squeaking bike rumbles static into my nostalgic moment. A freckled faced
Verlag: BookRix GmbH & Co. KG
Texte: copyright 2013 by Janice Abel. Book Cover by Laszlo Kugler
Tag der Veröffentlichung: 29.10.2013
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