I went for a walk. Nothing too remarkable about that, but as I cruised my neighborhood, I passed a teen-aged girl talking on her phone. Her side of the conversation went like this,
“…it was covered with Sharpie. They told me to clean it, so I covered it with band-aids.”
For the next block or so, I wondered about the other side of the conversation. I wondered what was covered with Sharpie, that could so easily be “cleaned” by a smattering of band-aids. How did her friend respond? I was the sort of girl who found interesting ways to respond to authority, so I regretted that I couldn’t hang out long enough to determine if she was truly a kindred spirit. Sadly, society doesn’t much condone middle-aged women hanging out in front of houses to eavesdrop on teen-aged girls.
Rambling along, I appreciated that diversion as much as I appreciated the great big sparkly pick-up truck that completed a remarkable 3-point turn in the middle of the road in order to back into a driveway, with “Great Balls of Fire” playing so loudly that I could sing along, despite the truck’s closed windows.
Before the last chord of the last refrain finished echoing through my mind, I passed the house where the teen-aged boy was arrested. That was a few months ago, but I happened to walk by just as he was escorted to the police car, hands cuffed behind his back, parents shell-shocked on the porch. I’ll forever think of it as “the house where that boy was arrested.”
Turning the corner, heading for home, passing a neighbor who’s almost always out puttering in his yard or working on his boat (this time on the boat), overhearing his exchange with another neighbor’s teen son,
“Now, why would I kill a squirrel? It’s not like you’d eat him.”
“Oh, yes I would!”
And so goes a walk through my neighborhood. It’s a wonder I don’t walk more often!
