Friday, December 7, 2012

Gordie Boy: "I'm outta here!"

I was new to the neighbourhood and didn't know any of the household routines followed by others around me. I didn't understand the ins and outs of modern society and conversations between larger members of the ruling class went right over my head. I reached a breaking point after 12 months of life.


Early one morning, while the two adults who shared living space with me were occupied, I planned my escape. I felt the farther away I could get from the woman who regularly shoved warm oatmeal or mushy peas into my mouth the better. Offerings from the plate of the wavy-haired man who sat at one side of the kitchen table were no better and if I never bounced on his lap and spit up breakfast on my shirt again that would be fine with me.

When I felt no one was watching I headed for a screen door that faced a narrow porch, a yard surrounded by spruce trees, a sidewalk that pointed toward Wettlaufer's General Store and a sideroad that connected with The King's Highway 59. I calculated - if I ran as fast as my little kegs could carry me - I would reach the yard in two minutes, the sidewalk in three and be running past the general store and west toward the bright lights of Woodstock in ten. I just hoped Mrs. Hilliker, the old lady who lived in the next house, didn't spot me or pick me up before I had a chance to 'blow this pop stand'.

Before I snuck out the screen door I spied my favourite felt hat on the floor. It was mine so I grabbed it. I also saw some shiny black shoes - they were mine too, I was sure of it - so I put my feet inside them and clunked out the door. I tried to tuck in my shirt but it wouldn't tuck and I had the awful feeling that my shorts needed some tucking too but my hands were not up to the job and I was in a hurry.

I approached the porch steps and heard the door slam behind me. Did I do that? I asked myself. Is that my door? I wondered also if I should slam the door again because it made an interesting noise. And I wondered how I would get down the first step and if I was wearing the right shoes for the job. I also wondered why my shorts were so baggy and why a cool draft kept sneaking up from behind me.

I don't know who took my picture. But I guess I didn't escape town that day. And these days I think warm mushy peas taste pretty darn good with fish and chips.

Photo of old photo by GH

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2 comments:

Lannie Good said...

Hello brother: Maybe you didn't escape that time, but you tried several more times and often "did" make your escape..and the whole town had to look for you..and you never grew out of your "disappearing" act, only now it's on a bike or motorcycle skimming down the hiways and biways..thankfully you always make it back home...love Lannie

G. Harrison said...

Lannie, once my curly legs grew longer I could run a lot faster. It's a big world out there and I'd like to see a lot more before I slow down. : ) Gord