The Creek

I remember clutching onto the steel fence behind the school’s playground, the cage the elementary kept us in during recess. Across, on the other side of the hill, there were trees, so many trees that it

looked like a forest from the classroom amazon books.

I remember the rumors, too.

“There’s a clown that hides in the woods.”

“He eats kids.”

“If you see him, he’ll eat you too.”

For the rest of the year, I never dared to look into the woods, afraid I might see something, afraid I might get eaten by the clown. These were the stories children made up. Maybe they thought the woods behind the elementary school were scary, it was their way of protecting themselves and others from the dangers that lurked there. Little did they know, it was the most beautiful place in the world.

I remember a friend. She wasn’t like the others. She wasn’t scared of the woods behind the school and she wasn’t scared of the clown or of being eaten. She was adventurous and brave, unlike me.

One summer day, it was hot. The sun made my skin sticky with sweat and it felt like I was a nasty microwavable meal. It was so hot, my friend and I rode our bikes up and down the street next to our apartments just to feel the wind in our hair and dry out sweaty, smelly bodies. It was refreshing, like taking a shower or standing in the rain. It didn't last long though.

“I sort of went behind the woods,” my friend said, circling her bike around the dead end as I followed behind, standing up in my seat as the wheel shook and bumped as it rode across the potholes.

I was shocked at first and stopped my bike, pressing hard on the brakes. She turned her two-wheeler around and stood next to me with a smile.

“Did you go alone?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“When did you go?”

“Yesterday afternoon.”

“Did you see anything?”

“There’s a creek.” She grinned, showing her wonky teeth. “Let’s go.”

I shook my head. I’d never gone that far with my bike. All the way behind the school? I was old enough to know that the clown was just a scary story but the woods still made my heart pound with fear.  

“It’s okay. There’s no clown,” she said, as if reading my mind. “It’s just a bunch of trees and some water. It’s really nice.” She perched herself back on the bike seat and smiled, nudging towards the road with her head. “Come on, I’ll show you.” She pedaled and quickly rode away, not waiting to be followed.

My parents never let me leave past the road. It was my invisible border. But no matter the rules or the fear, I was curious that day. Like in the horror movies when the character opens the closet even though there’s a monster inside waiting for them, they still go ahead and turn the doorknob because what if it’s not?

That’s why I went.

I followed behind my friend, pedaling hard and trying to catch up. She wasn’t going to the back of the school fence though, she was winding around the street and suddenly she stopped in front of a short log fence like the ones they have at farms.

I didn’t say anything. I was still confused.

My eyes wandered the land. It was a small rectangular park. There was nothing there but grass and a swerving paved road that went from where we were standing to the other end of the park like a trail. No swings, no slides, no nothing but dead grass and weeds. Behind the rectangular park, there were more trees. Willow trees and tall trees with triangle leaves, small trees, broken trees, dead trees. It was all mixed trees.

“Come on.”

I rolled up my sleeves all the way up to my shoulders and followed her with my bike, down the concrete path and towards the mixed trees. I noticed in the corner of the park, there was a small path that led somewhere but there was no trail there, just an open bush that looked like a door. I ignored it.

The wind began to whistle and the leaves made rustling sounds overhead as we approached. The concrete trail turned to small white rocks as we made way into a clearing between the row of mixed trees and a deserted piece of land behind the park. If I stood in the middle of this five foot wide path between the trees, I would look to one side and see civilization and on the other side, a barren wasteland with tall uncut grass that went as far as the eye could see.

There was cage too, some sort of electrical thing with a ‘no trespassing’ sign awkwardly hanging on the front. We never touched that.

Instead, I breathed in this new fresh scent and let my ears enjoy the symphonic sounds. I felt like I was in a whole different world.

“Look down here,” my friend called. She was leaning against the big willow tree and pointing down. I walked over and saw a stream of water only a couple feet deep make its way down under the path we were standing on and to the other side. We were on a tiny land bridge, I thought.

“Is this was a creek looks like?” I asked her.

“Yeah,” she answered hesitantly, as if she wasn’t too sure herself.

She sat down on a protruding rock and I joined her. Together we watched the water run down beneath us as the trees protected us from the vicious heat of the summer sun.

There was no talking, just listening. I heard birds, crickets, car tires as they passed on the other civilization part of the park.

The creek wasn’t nice at all really. It was dirty and there were lots of bugs and the water was gross and cold but it was magical. I’d never seen anything quite like it before.

For the rest of the summer we rode down to the creek, we made plans to meet there and ride bikes back and forth on the boring trail and listen to the noises the creek made like the little stream of water as it babbled its way to an unknown place underneath our toes. We pretended to be explorers as we investigated this new environment, memorizing where each tree was, where each path went, finding shortcuts from this place to that place and creating a mental map of our creek.

We tried to make a path across the stream one day, taking big rocks and stepping on them like they do in cartoons. It didn’t work, or it was too much work for just the two of us.

My friend and I found marvelous little creatures like colorful birds and dragonflies; we even found little tiny black spider-like insects that slide across the water. We called them water sliders and practically worshipped them. I remember being completely blown away. How did they do that? It was amazing.

The creek was amazing.

We even went through the scary path in the corner one day. We were both scared while walking on the path, holding hands and wondering where it led and if we’d be able to make it back out without getting lost. Or eaten. We nearly fell to the ground laughing when the path led straight back to the hill behind the school.

There was no clown. There was nothing there, just us. I looked at the fence where I remember standing just a few years ago, staring at where I was on the hill and fearing an imaginary cannibalistic clown. I was so stupid.

So we sat on the hill and looked at the empty elementary school, giggling and laughing at old memories until sundown.

…We were friends for a long time before I moved away. I’ll never forget the creek or my friend.

Elizabeth showed me that it was okay to be curious and break the boundaries, to turn the knob, because there isn’t always a monster in the closet.