Run Like The Wind And Play Forever

Run Like the Wind and Play Forever

 

 

 

It was a long trip. Jimmy didn’t know it, but it would be the longest of his life.

He took his eyes off the road for a second to glance at his sister in the passenger seat. Sara appeared mesmerized by the open photo album on her lap. “This is pretty exciting, huh, sis?” Jimmy asked, his eyes shifting back to the road.

Sara smiled at him. “Yes, but certainly not as much as for you. I mean, it was…” she paused and mentally calculated… “sixty-eight years ago, and I was only eight when grandpa died. I don’t remember as much as you, I guess. You were…” she calculated again… “thirteen at the time. I have to admit you have a damn good memory.”

Jimmy sighed, reminiscing on the long ago. “I think all those times we vacationed at Grandma and Grandpa’s cabin on Long Lake were the happiest times of my life.”

His sister snorted but in good humor. “Sure, Jimmy. Happier than the forty-five years of marriage to Laura, your successful career as an attorney, not to mention a well-funded retirement?” she asked with a hint of sarcasm.

“Apples and oranges,” Jimmy replied. “I’m not complaining about my life; it’s been wonderful. But when we were children, life was so carefree, summers long and lazy, our bodies strong and youthful. We could run like the wind and play forever.”

“Are you forgetting about our parents’ divorce? That’s the main reason we spent all that time at the cabin. That and our stepfather’s courtship.”

“No, I’m not forgetting. And I admit it probably magnified the good times with Grandma and Grandpa at the lake. But the fact remains that the best time of a person’s life is usually their childhood. They just don’t realize it until much later.”

“There’s a rest stop coming up at the next exit,” Sara advised, changing the subject. “You said you needed a potty break.”

Jimmy did. At eighty-one, his body was beginning to show the inevitable signs of the accumulating years: enlarged prostate, frequent urinating, bad knees and hip, and that pesky heart problem. He would have to address those issues soon, but right now, he just wanted to take a piss.

When he finished washing his hands, he looked at his reflection in the restroom mirror. An old man stared back at him. Most of his hair had abandoned ship years before, the grey fringe now holding onto only a beachhead at the sides and back. And the wear and tear of the years now etched on his face—a far cry from the pictures of the young boy in the photo album.

He rejoined his sister waiting outside in the shade of several large oaks. It was a pleasant summer day, Michigan’s early June heat tempered by their continued journey northward. Jimmy had to admit that his silver-haired, matronly sister was holding together better physically than he was. Besides the few extra pounds and high cholesterol, she was in decent shape. Sara’s hair was always neatly coiffed, and her face was remarkably unlined for a woman of seventy-six. Jimmy supposed it was due to all those skin creams most women used, although he suspected a little plastic surgery along the way. “Okay, sis, let’s hit the road,” he said.

“A man on a mission,” Sara replied, smiling and shaking her head.

Once back on the I-75 freeway, she checked her phone’s GPS. “Another ten miles, and we take US 23 towards Standish. From there, just stay on 23 straight to Hale; Long Lake is just a hop, skip and a jump from there.”

An hour later, they stopped for gas in the small town of Standish before heading to the lake, following the GPS as it directed them to Chipmunk Trail and the cabin of their youth. With the lake glimmering in the sunshine to the right, their Nissan Sentra rental car meandered through the tall pines in search of the summers of yesteryear.

“Look, sis, there’s the Whippoorwill cabin on the corner to the left. Remember, Georgie and Jeannie taught me how to play Monopoly on the front porch. We played a lot even though I never won.” Jimmy’s voice had risen several octaves in his excitement.

Sara snorted. “I remember. But do you remember they never included me in those games because I was only eight?”

Jimmy ignored her. “Georgie was three years older than me and used to take us out in his family’s sailboat. Jeannie had a crush on him, and I had a crush on her. What great fun we had,” he said with a sigh.

Sara just shook her head.

Short seconds later, Jimmy was sputtering again, “There… there on the right… it’s the cabin! Gary and Lisa’s house is right next door.” His eyes were wide, his mouth gaping. His head swiveled back and forth as he tried to take in everything all at once.

They pulled into the driveway of their cousin’s two-story lake house next to a red Toyota Camry. Parked in the driveway of the cabin next door was an older blue Chevy Blazer. It was late afternoon as they headed for the front door, eager to see their hosts.

Jimmy had tracked down their cousin the previous summer via several internet search engines, the web of trails zeroing in on Belleville, Michigan. Several phone calls and conversations later, they set the meeting. Gary and Lisa vacationed at their condo in Fort Myers Beach, Florida, to escape the harsh Michigan winters, and from there, it had only been a two-plus hour drive farther north in Florida to visit Jimmy at his apartment in Sarasota.

Jimmy rang the bell, and as they waited, he couldn’t help keeping his eyes from wandering over to the cottage next door. He assumed the vehicle in the drive belonged to his cousin since he now owned the cabin, a pleasant surprise since—

The front door swung open, and there was Gary, all 5’4” and 160 pounds of him. Tanned and fit, he stood there beaming at them. Behind him was the smiling, equally tanned and equally diminutive Lisa, even shorter than Gary.

“Well, the weary travelers have finally made it back after 68 years,” Gary said, glancing from one to the other. “Any problems? Didn’t get lost along the way?”

“Kinda hard nowadays with GPS to guide you,” Sara laughed as their hosts ushered them into the house.

“Yeah, Sara flew in from California a week ago and rested up while I showed her the sights. Add an uneventful plane ride into Detroit, a three-hour drive north, and here we are,” Jimmy added.

“Gary will help with your suitcases and show you to your rooms upstairs,” Lisa said. “Then we’ll give you a quick tour of the house, a leisurely dinner, and cap off the evening with a glass of wine down by the lake,” Lisa enumerated, eyebrows raised in question.

“Sounds good to me,” they replied, almost in unison.

“AND something smells fantastic,” Sara added.

“Gary made his famous homemade chicken potpie for dinner. Now, get settled in, you two, so we can eat.”

After unpacking and taking a tour of the lake house, Jimmy and Sara showered, changed clothes and regrouped in the dining room for dinner. Neither of them could stop from gushing about the couple’s home during the meal. “Gary, you were telling me last year you designed and built this house yourself?” Jimmy asked.

“Well, sort of. Designed it, yes, but I had a crew of four helping me with the big stuff. It was originally a cottage bought by Lisa before we married, much like Grandma and Grandpa’s cottage next door, but she wanted to expand it, enlarging it to two stories. We ran into structural problems, one thing led to another, and I ended up tearing everything down and starting over from scratch. Except for the stone fireplace, that is; we kept that. Took me four years to get this sucker built.”

Sara was shaking her head in awe. “You’re a genius, Gary—it’s absolutely beautiful. So big, and so many windows, most with a view of the lake.” she raved.

Gary was beaming with pride. “We ended up at twenty-five hundred square feet with three bedrooms, each with their own bath. I used recycled materials whenever I could, and yes, the house has a lot of windows. Forty-two, to be exact, each with a view. Now you can see why we call it our lake house instead of a cottage.”

“We have a photo album of the construction process from start to finish. I’ll dig it out tomorrow and show you,” Lisa chimed in.

“We’d love to see it. But it must cost a fortune to heat this place in the winter,” Jimmy said.

“Actually, it costs almost nothing,” Gary answered. “We shut the heat off during the winter and stay at our condo in Florida. ‘Follow the sun,’ so to speak. During the summer, we split our time between this place and our main home in Belleville. Here at the lake, we do a lot of entertaining with the kids, grandkids and friends.”

“Amazing,” Jimmy said. “What about Grandma and Grandpa’s cabin? You said you had worked on that.” He had been yearning to bring up the subject and itching to see the place ever since their arrival but didn’t want to seem too anxious or ungracious. He hoped now was a good time. “Enough of the construction talk for now, Jimmy. I’ll fill you in later over a glass of wine down by the lake. How are they treating you in the old folks’ home in Sarasota?”

Jimmy was a little miffed at the question, although he had to admit that the change of subject might have added to his annoyance. He managed a smile. “It’s not an ‘old folks’ home. True, Brookdale is an assisted living facility, but I have an apartment in the independent wing. Since Laura passed away, it seemed the simplest way to go. We never had any children, so that wasn’t a consideration. It’s a great place with a lot of amenities, and a single monthly payment covers everything. Plus, I’m no spring chicken. And Sarasota is a beautiful city, and the Florida climate suits me.”

Lisa glanced over at Sara. “Sara, it sounds like you’re still living in La Mirada. Any plans on moving?” she asked.

“No, since Jack died, it’s been a little difficult taking care of the house, but my two sons and their families live in southern California, too, so I’ll probably stick around there for a few more years, health permitting, and see how things work out.”

“Let’s all continue this on the patio by the lake,” Lisa said. “Why don’t you all head down while I clean up and do the dishes? Gary can give you a tour of our three patios and tiered landscaping before prepping the fire pit. I’ll bring the wine down when I finish. Sara protested and volunteered to help in the kitchen, but Lisa shooed her out with the others.

Later, as the sun was going down, they sat around the fire pit, sipping their wine and enjoying the evening. Although it was early summer, the evenings were still cool this far north, and the fire took the edge off. All three patios had beautiful views of the lake. They chose the lowest one, nearest to the water. They watched in silence as several boats slid by far out on the lake, their running lights casting reflections on the still waters.

Jimmy couldn’t help but cast an occasional glance up the hill at his grandparents’ former cabin. The interior lights were on; someone was inside. Gary had mentioned in the past that their children or grandchildren sometimes bunked there or that they occasionally rented it out. Maybe—

Gary interrupted his train of thought. “As for Grandma and Grandpa’s cottage, which you seem to have fixated on ever since you found out I owned it, it’s as good as new.”

Jimmy’s head snapped back, his attention refocused. “I’ve just been wondering about it, is all.”

Sara snorted, an endearing trait of hers.

Gary continued, “With Grandpa having died there, Grandma Vera wanted nothing to do with the cabin anymore. Her son, my father, had passed away several years before, so she sold it to my mother. When Mom died, she left it to me.” Gary gazed out at the lake and the lights of the homes on the other side. “Like you, I spent many days up here when I was a kid.”

Jimmy was leaning forward in anticipation. Sara snickered again as eagerness lit his face. “You’ll have to excuse your cousin, Gary,” she said. “For some reason, he has this thing about childhood being the best time of his life, and he equates our grandparents’ cabin with that time somehow.”

“I have to admit we had great times at the lake, although we were seldom here at the same time as you and Jimmy,” Gary said.

“But it sounds like Jimmy’s seeing the past through ‘rose-colored glasses,’” Lisa chimed in from the shadows.

“And they seem to get rosier the older he gets,” Sara added. Her smile flickered in the light from the crackling fire. “Jimmy thinks those days of his childhood were the best days ever. He’d go back if he could. I wouldn’t myself. I can’t imagine going through all the trials and tribulations of another lifetime: school, jobs, careers, difficulties, pain, tragedy, heartbreaks, all the ups and downs, the peaks and valleys, the seemingly endless day-to-day grind.” She paused, catching her breath. “Unless, of course, you could stay a child forever,” she laughed.

Jimmy didn’t seem interested in changing the topic, so Gary steered things back to the cabin. “Anyway, the cottage is basically the same as when Grandpa died. I didn’t update or renovate anything, only restored it to the way it was,” Gary said. “I even left the fruit cellar as is. Or as was, you might say.”

Jimmy reminisced, “I remember—I was probably only five or six, I think—when Grandma and Grandpa first bought the cabin. Never was interested in going down into that dark hole under the utility room. Too scary for me. I also remember we had to use a hand pump, red as I recall, to get water from a well in the backyard. In the living room, they had one of those big, old, black Ben Franklin stoves for heat. And the interior walls didn’t even go all the way to the ceiling.”

“I didn’t restore things from that far back,” Gary said with a laugh. “I was only born a short time before they bought the cabin. My memories of the place didn’t start until well after kindergarten.”

They all lapsed into a comfortable silence, listening to the lapping water of the lake on the shore, the crackling fire, and the rustle of the trees in the gentle breeze overhead. Jimmy glanced again at the cabin.

As if on cue, Gary resumed the topic of the cottage. “Right now, we have the cabin rented out for a week. Danny is an interesting fellow, a Hopi Indian, a genuine Native American. He won’t have a problem with us visiting the old homestead tomorrow.”

“What a great coincidence,” Jimmy said. “Laura and I visited the Hopi Reservation in Arizona years ago. We were returning from a vacation to the Grand Canyon and checked it out.” Jimmy was appeased, temporarily at least, on the subject of the cottage, and they spent the rest of the evening in pleasant conversation about more recent events.

 

The next morning after a hearty breakfast of pancakes and sausage, Gary phoned his renter next door. After a short conversation, he turned to Jimmy and Sara. “Danny says you’re more than welcome to come over and look at the old place—and all my handiwork, of course.

Jimmy stared at the small cottage as they made the short walk next door. It was like coming home, even after his 68-year absence. Gary had restored the exterior to its original look, and it appeared the same as in his boyhood memories. It was eerie. Gary and Sara were chatting and laughing, but Jimmy was oblivious, lost in his reverie.

A broad-shouldered, mocha-skinned man in his mid-fifties answered the door. His mop of black hair slicked down; a broad smile creased his rugged face. “Come in, come in,” he said, stepping aside to let them enter. “I’ve been expecting you.”

Gary made the introductions. “Sara, Jimmy, this is Daniel Cheveyo Humetewa. Daniel, these are my long-lost cousins, Jimmy and Sara.”

The man shook their hands, his grip firm, almost painful. “You can just call me Danny. Everyone does,” he said. “Cheveyo is my given Hopi name and, should you ever wonder, it means ‘Spirit Warrior’ in our native tongue.”

After a few more pleasantries, the tour began. Danny stood apart as Gary guided his cousins through the small, two-bedroom cottage, describing his restorations along the way. Jimmy was finding it difficult to pay attention. Images of himself as a young boy wandering through the cabin kept intruding: the bedroom where he slept, the small kitchen and table where he ate, the living room with its stone fireplace, the knickknack shelves overhead dividing the kitchen and living room, the view of the backyard where he ran and played, the lake where he swam, fished and boated with his grandfather. They all brought a dizzying onslaught of nostalgia.

When they finished, Daniel rejoined the conversation. “Anybody up for a cup of freshly brewed coffee? Just made it, and I have a few donuts left, too.”

“Thanks, Danny, but I have a lot of work to do on my dock and seawall,” Gary said.

Sara also declined. “Thank you for the offer, but unfortunately, I volunteered to help Lisa wash windows today. All forty-two of them,” she added, laughing.

Daniel turned to Jimmy, his eyebrows arched.

“I’m in, Danny; sounds good to me. Coffee and donuts, a fine mid-morning snack.”

Gary and Sara said their goodbyes and headed out, leaving the two of them sitting at the kitchen table sipping their coffee. “So, Danny, what do you do for a living? As you can guess from my advanced age, I’m retired,” he chuckled.

“I’m an accountant,” Daniel said.

“Here in Michigan?”

“No, for the tribal council in my Village of Moenkopi on the Hopi Pueblo Reservation in Arizona,” Daniel said with a smile. “It’s about forty miles west of the Pueblo’s Third Mesa. My ancestors came from that mesa, and I still get back there often to visit relatives and help out. I even take part in the old festivals and rituals on occasion. And before you ask, I take my vacations in the outside world, so to speak, in places different from our arid lands in Arizona. This forested water wonderland of Michigan fits the bill. And, no, I’m not married and have no children. There, does that take care of everything?”

Jimmy felt his face grow hot. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”

Daniel’s smile was disarming. “No offense taken. So what do you think of the old homestead now, 68 years later,” he said, changing the subject.

“It’s amazing, just like I remember—a big dose of memories. I have a photo album with all the pictures back then of me and the cabin. And other people, of course,” he added. “Everything looks the same.”

“Did you bring the album with you on your visit?”

“Yes.”

“May I see it sometime?”

Jimmy jumped up, his knees popping. “It’s in the car. I’ll run and get it, be right back.” He was back less than a minute later, a little breathless, and handed the book to Daniel.

The man opened the album and slowly leafed through the pages, his face impassive, his dark eyes fixed on the images. Jimmy recalled something about photographs he had heard during his visit years ago to the Hopi Pueblo. It had to do with… what was it… ?

He strove to pin the memory down. It came to him like a thunderclap. “I just remembered, Mr. Humatewa… Cheveyo… Daniel, I mean Danny… ah… about photographs… and… um… the Hopi Indians… I mean Native Americans…”

Daniel looked up at him without a word, his chiseled face emotionless. Stoic was the word that popped into Jimmy’s mind. “It was about the pictures... taking photographs, that is.” He regained a little of his composure. “My wife and I visited the Hopi Reservation years ago while on vacation. They said we were welcome but to not take… ah… any photographs of anyone while we were there. Something about… um… capturing their souls or something…” Jimmy’s voice trailed off in a confusion of jumbled thoughts. He could feel himself blushing again.

Daniel’s rugged face softened with a smile and morphed further into a wide grin, his eyes sparkling. “Just superstition. Actually, my village was the last to give up that old belief. There are still a few that hang on to that old wives’ tale, but only a few, and mostly the very elderly.”

Jimmy relaxed. “How did that superstition go?” he asked, still a little apprehensive.

“Hopis believe the soul causes life and thought in the person it animates, a fine, immaterial human image, something like steam, air or shadow by its nature.” Daniel spun the photo album around on the table to face Jimmy. “You have a lot of pictures here of the cabin, along with you and your sister. My village once believed every photograph taken of them captured a piece of their soul, with that piece transferred into the resulting paper images.” Daniel stabbed a picture of Jimmy in the album with his finger for emphasis. “Not a good thing in their view. And considering the number of photos you’ve accumulated, I’d say you left a big chunk of your soul back in your childhood, if one were to believe in such a crazy idea, that is.” He leaned back and finished his donut with an enigmatic smile.

“Pretty wild,” Jimmy agreed. “And as I remember, they were very secretive about the below-ground religious centers… kivas, I believe they called them. They barred us from entering any of them, let alone taking pictures.”

“True, many practices of the Hopis are still shrouded in secrecy. As you probably learned, we have no organized religion, per se. We are a spiritual people, one with nature, a part of the whole, kin with the earth and everything in it. We are an ancient people and have been around on the Three Mesas for over a thousand years. Kivas are small chambers where they conduct these dated, metaphysical rites. The kivas are usually underground since Mother Earth, the place from which Man originally emerged into the world, would be embracing them.”

“Dated, metaphysical rites?” Jimmy questioned. “I assume then, as an educated member of the 21st century, you no longer believe in many of the customs and traditions of your ancestors?”

For several seconds Daniel stared at him, his eyes appraising. “I didn’t say that. Merely phrased it in outsider terminology.” He abruptly changed the subject. “So, Jimmy, what’s this obsessive interest of yours with your childhood? Gary told me a little the other day and…” he glanced down at the photo album… “there are a lot of pictures of you when you were just a boy, many here at the cottage. I get the feeling—”

“They were the happiest days of my life,” Jimmy interrupted. He was glad of the new direction, not only in the change to his favorite theme but because, again, he feared he had stepped over the line and offended Daniel. “I know that all those fantastic days and weeks my sister and I spent here over the years were magnified by our dysfunctional family life at home, our parents troubled marriage and their long, drawn-out divorce. Then the courtship of our mother by our eventual stepfather—I think they shipped us here for a few summers for a little ‘alone’ time. Still, as you can see from many other non-cabin pictures, I was happy as a child. The feeling of the sun and wind on my face as I ran, the dirt beneath my feet as I flew over the ground, to run forever if I wanted, strong, young, free, anywhere, anytime. Endless summers. No worries about anything, fascination with everything….”

Jimmy rambled on about the joys of his childhood and stories of his youth until the morning had disappeared. He flushed with embarrassment when he finally glanced at his watch and saw the time. “I’m so sorry, Danny, for running off at the mouth like that. Got carried away, I guess.”

Daniel was grinning. “No problem, it sounds like a favorite topic of yours.”

“I’ll get these old bones of mine out of here, but I would like to visit again to learn more about the Hopi culture and traditions,” Jimmy said, attempting to make amends. It sounded lame, but his interest was sincere.

“Yes, Jimmy, I would like that. As you will too… I’m sure.”

 

Jimmy divided the rest of the week among boating, swimming, fishing, and an ever-increasing amount of time spent next door at Daniel Humetewa’s. It didn’t go unnoticed by Sara. “What are you and Danny doing next door all the time?” she asked. They were sitting on the patio, enjoying the view of the lake.

“Just talking; the Hopis are an interesting people. And Danny is a treasure trove of information on the topic.”

Sara seemed to accept his answer. “It has been fun here at the lake,” she admitted. “Too bad we have to leave in two days.

“Maybe,” Jimmy replied.

His sister laughed. “Well, I have to get back to California. I don’t know how long Gary and Lisa will let you stay or how long before Brookdale panics and reports you missing, but—”

Jimmy was staring at her, silent and unsmiling, his eyes strange and moist with tears.

Sara stopped laughing. “What’s going on, Jimmy? What’s wrong? You have that deer-in-the-headlights look,” she said.

Her brother chewed on his lip nervously. “I’m going to miss you, sis unless you want to come along.”

Sara leaned forward, concerned. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Jimmy told her of his plans. Somehow she remained silent, although an angry flush suffused her face as the minutes passed. When he finished, Sara was almost bouncing up and down in her chair. “Are you crazy? You hardly know this… this Indian from Arizona, you just met him a week ago,” Sara sputtered. “Danny seems like a nice enough guy, but all this crazy talk about kivas, rituals, photographs, and souls… well, this all could be dangerous. You sound like a nutcase with all this stuff.”

Her tirade continued, and Jimmy let it run its course until she ran out of gas. “Are you done?” he asked.

“When they get back from shopping, I’m going to tell Gary and Lisa about all the shenanigans their renter is planning with you,” she finished.

“Please don’t do that, sis. I agree it’s probably all for nothing and a waste of time, but it’s harmless, and I won’t do anything dangerous. Just consider Danny a little eccentric. And it will give me a chance to learn more about their secretive traditions and culture. I’m old but not senile. Trust me on this. Or just humor me. Besides, if it turns out to be true—”

Lisa snorted.

 

It was the day before they were departing for Florida, and Jimmy was next door to ostensibly say goodbye to his new friend, Cheveyo Humetewa. “When do you want me to be back, Danny?” he asked.

“An hour before sunrise.”

“And we’re going to use the fruit cellar as a kiva?”

“Yes, it’s in the bosom of Mother Earth, and shape or size makes no difference; it’s the spiritual significance, not the room itself. I’ll show you.”

They went to the utility room, pulled up the trap door, and descended the eight steps to a small, earthen floor, 10’x10’ space. Danny pulled on a dangling chain at the bottom of the stairs, and the single overhead light bulb came to life. Shelves lined three walls, occupied by a few dusty, empty glass jars. Five small, hand-carved wooden figures were in the middle of the floor, circumscribing a rough circle. Jimmy recognized them from his visit to the Pueblo and from pictures he had seen. They called them Kachinas, he remembered.

“Kachinas in your language, ‘tithu’ in the Hopi language…” Daniel said, reading Jimmy’s expression, “… and they are hand-carved from cottonwood, and represent the spirits of things in the real world, the personifications of life in all objects that fill the universe. We believe everything has an essence or a life force, and humans must interact with these or fail to survive.”

The cellar had a dank, earthy smell, and Jimmy was a little claustrophobic in the small, dimly lit room. He breathed a sigh of relief when they emerged from the confines of the soon-to-be “kiva.”

As Jimmy departed, Danny had the look and tone of a fellow conspirator. “I’ll see you in the predawn morning,” Cheveyo Humetewa said with a wink.

 

Sara was sitting at the kitchen table the next morning, her bags packed and waiting by the back door. She was leafing through Jimmy’s photo album for the third time, her eyes puffy from crying. Sara hadn’t slept well during the night or awakened until after sunrise. Jimmy hadn’t been in his room when she checked; he had apparently decided to continue his silly game with Daniel. Sara had run to the cottage to see what was happening, but the door was locked, and there was no response to her pounding.

It wasn’t long before Gary and Lisa joined Sara in the kitchen. “Sorry we slept in so long,” Gary said. “We shouldn’t have stayed up late watching movies. Where’s Jimmy? Still sleeping?”

Lisa, a little more observant, noticed Sara staring at the photo album with a blank look and misty, red eyes. “What’s wrong, Sara?”

She looked up from the album. “I went next door, but there was no answer.”

“Yes, I think Danny left for Arizona yesterday,” Gary said.

“Yesterday? I don’t think so. I don’t think they left until early this morning.”

“What do you mean ‘they’?” Gary questioned.

“Do any young children live around here?” Sara asked.

The couple looked at each other in confusion. It was Lisa who finally answered. “No, none that live on this street, anyway. Why do you ask?”

“When I was going over to the cabin, I noticed small footprints in the dirt in the backyard, like a child running all over the place.” Sara returned to staring at the blank album page on the table. “And all his pictures have disappeared, at least the ones of him as a child, including those of him at Grandma and Grandpa’s cabin.” As if to prove her point, she spun the album around to face the couple and began leafing through the pages for them. “See, they’re gone. All the ones with him in them, at least.”

Gary tried to ignore Sara’s erratic comments. “You’re upset because you don’t know where Jimmy is. He’s probably taking a walk. We’ll go look for him.”

Sara exhaled with a sigh and leaned back in her chair, smiling. “No need, I know where he’s at.

“Where?”

“Running like the wind and playing forever.”

 

 

###

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Impressum

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 14.08.2018

Alle Rechte vorbehalten