Sandbox
You know that feeling you get in your fingers when you've played in the sand for too long? Its like the sand soppes up all of the water in your extremeties, and they become dry and stiff. Once when i was about nine, while i lived in sherman oaks, i went down to the Van Nuys Sherman Oaks park with my friend Noah Raynor. My house was about a half mile away from the park, and any day that we could take the trek accross Van Nuys Boulevard and Houston Street, the fastest streets in town, without our moms following closely behind in a station wagon was a good day. My mom had the station wagon, a 1991 Volkswagen Passat that was always in the shop. If that bad boy was ever out of commision, they'd upgrade tehmselves to Olivia Raynor's Toyota Previa van. But this day was not like all the other days. This day, walking by the old age home and the grimy used car dealership by ourselves was adventurous. Seeing the squirrells scurry up the trees made us feel like we were big enough to scare them away. Seeing the stiff lego-like structures of red, orange, and blue in the distance was like seeing an unsold Tickle-me Elmo in the midst of 1993 christmas fervor. When we'd finally reach the gilded playplace, we'd just sit. Maybe we'd make a chair out of sand, or flaunt our freedom to the other little kids with their mothers sitting close by on the benches surrounding the sandbox. God only knows what we could do with this freedom. If we wanted, we could even crawl up a slide or two! In the wrong direction! We'd fall down, get dirty, and cry gatorade. But after hours, we'd get that feeling...in our fingers. Its as if they didn't want to dig to the indian clay anymore. All the kids knew that if you dug deep enough in the sandbox, you'd reach the ancient red indian clay that squanto had left for us to make little marbles with. Everyone knew that it was just three feet under. Every time you'd dig, with or without the help of water, teh sand would tumble over itself, like an avalanche over a city built by your own hands. It grew tiresome...and lonely. All the other kids would be smart enough to go sit on the rocking dolphin on springs, or to climb a piece of modern art. I never gave up; not until i got that feeling in my fingers. This day, Noah crumpled up like an old napkin in the July heat, and left me alone to search for the ambiguous indian clay. I started to get that feeling, and i resisted it at all costs. Finally, i too gave up, having only found enough clay to make two or three little marbles. I guess what i'm saying is that i've worked really hard these last couple of weeks. I've worked until my extremities have become stiff and worn. I've sweat gatorade, and riun up one slide too many. I'm tired, worn, and dirtied with sand.