"Summer Nights"
That phrase evokes a different stirring in everyone who hears it. For me is meant staying outside til 9:30 or 10:00 each night. What began as a shared memory of my Dad's childhood continued as a nightly summer ritual.
The counting has begun and we must all flee to the boundaries agreed upon - 1 block radius and no crossing the street. A always started in the alley beyond the enemy lines and picked my favorite bush. Breathing in the pungent smell of pine and grit, I crouched beneath the branches. Hearing my own heart beating way too fast and feeling my breath coming short and quick. I check my left, then my right, only to see another comrade wave me over. "All clear" he whispers. We both crouched slowly into position, our shoes crunching way too loudly in the alleyway gravel.Waiting, we listened intently. Suddenly the noise was there above, in the air, for all of us to hear. The surprised screech, laughter and winded explanations of their foiled plans as they were tagged unsuccessfully sneaking into base.
Darn! Another set of eyes to watch the dim shadows we were making. Maybe we could slither around the adjoining house, doing our best to blend in with the quickening shadows. If we could just make it around the picket fence we would be in perfect camouflage- stripes. I waved to my comrade releasing him to his own schemes.
Rounding the neighbors house at speeds that defy detection, I made it to the backside of the house, coming to a quick halt as I came into range of view. I was exposed again and adeptly leapt from the tree shadow to tree shadow. There were several large oaks lining this side of the house. So, you had to be careful not only for the myriads of pointy dry leaves, but also the crunching fruit beneath you. Hulls deprived of their contents that were long since deposited by our furry neighbors. Noise was the enemy's fiercest weapon and with a second set of ears as well as eyes, I had to be extra cautious. Though usually barefoot this time of year, I gratefully grabbed my worn out sandals this time. I was anticipating the Holly bushes this time. Hugging those massive, and mossy oak sentries gave me time to evaluate my situation. Were there any daredevils out there I could make out in the hazy dusk of a newborn moonlight? Maybe one who would sacrifice himself so we could rush from behind and liberate the weaker brothers. None yet.
Communication among the shadows was risky and if they were caught would they expose your shadowed sanctuary? Now, too much time had passed and the enemy was getting more desperate. Willing to risk his post to catch those lurking just inside the safe zone beyond the lights rays from the porch. I turned my head, scoping out the blackness for any coded signals when-
"ploink-ka-ra-ta-tat-tat-tat"
The loud sound singing through night with a victorious chant as the can sailed high in the air and came down with a rattle and roll pealing it message down the sidewalk. That exonerating call beckoned us all from our bunkers as we made our way to the porch. Roundabout, of course, so we didn't give away our coveted hiding spots.
We were all neighbors and friends once again in the light chatting and laughing. Soon we all conferred which of us would be able to stay for another game of "kick the can"
written Feb 8,2012 for a writing class by Laura Yoder
