Some day’s when I was alone; you could find me tucked away in my sanctuary, the moldy tree house that crashed down in the green belt. Out past the broken fence the blocked my access the natural, city-owned landscape, out with my small toy piano, composing a song for my friend, the thing that lived back there. Normally on day's like those the sky would be crying on the New York. But out in the more northern part it was more peaceful. I know most of you are thinking wolfs don't live in New York. New York is a place for the business men, and the people hoping to get big on Wall Street.
But eight year old eyes see the world in a way most adults had already out grown. Near the wooden toy set my parents had bought me when I was young I would lay down a red tarp, pour my carton of apple juice in a plastic yellow bucket and place a box of Oreo’s on the ground and wait in my yellow soggy sun dress for it to come out of its hiding place and join me to eat. Most the time, it never showed up. So instead I would be forced to dine alone.
When I was five I would stand at the edge of the green belt and wonder if I could join my friend. I didn't know what they were of course, but I saw it and I wanted to come. It felt to me like a club. But, I didn't know the rules or the standards I had to reach before I could become a member.
When I fell asleep at night under the plastic glow-in-the-dark sticky stars, I could my friend them calling out to me, and if I was lucky enough to be alone that night I would call back out to it... Imagine that a five year old screaming out the window in the middle of the night. It scared the crap out of the neighbor’s.
On the day's when I practiced my piano near the open window you could here it’s soft, enchanting voice, singing to the melody I played for it.
When I was three I was just beginning to make sense of the words I could use. I would spin wild tales to my father about the calls at night. He would listen, but turned the radio up louder, the silly imaginings of a child.
When I was two, I was just beginning to walk on two legs instead of crawling around like a dog. I got lost in the forest then. The smell of decaying leaves and of freshly watered plants pulled me in; my mom was weeding the garden and was on speaker phone with a high school friend. I turned to look back at her, debating, but instead walked straight ahead. I didn’t care where I went. I just wanted to peak in. To see what it was like on the other side.
I could hear the whispers of running water.
I tripped…
They found me soaking wet on the back porch the next morning. Mom had already called the police. I was already listed as a missing person. And a search party was already out searching for me. Young couples go over board.
They never actually found what laid me there.
The tracks were covered by a fresh blanket of snow; it shouldn’t snow in late summer...
I still wish I could find them but it late; this is all I need before I go to sleep; a nice bed time story to keep my tired mind puzzling. I wish my friend would call me again.
But adult minds have already out grown them.
Blowing out the candles on my thirteenth birthday was like making a death wish.
Cutting the cake on my eighteenth was the final sentence.
Eating the cake on my fourteenth, I was headed to the gallows.
