the parts where i knew what happened next
They weren't stones, they were pecan shells. They were all over the place. Made of tree bark on the outside. Squirrels had eaten parts of them. And there were little holes in all the tree trunks. I had a hell of a time figuring out that one. Woodpeckers. Actual real-life woodpeckers, hammering on tree trunks that were filled with bugs, I had learned.
And they weren't really skipping. I'm up top, see, at the top of the bank. The bank slopes down about fifteen feet I bet. It's pretty steep and made mostly of mud, clay, and vines. So when I throw a stone, or a shell, it don't skip, it more ker-plops. If it's a shell it bounces back up and floats along its way. That's the kind of science I was dealing with.
That night we got sixteen feet of snow and the whole town got to sort of glowing. I saw an old-looking guy raking it up. I couldn't figure out who he thought was going to pay him for that. You can't really help but feel bad about that kind of stuff.
The day glowed off the re-frozen snow ice. I pulled my hat down a little lower. My breath pushed past all the dry air up on its way to God. "Whose are you?" I asked a squirrel, pretending it was a dog. It looked at me for two seconds and then ran halfway up a tree. I walked over to the old park, with the baseball diamond, sandbox, swingset, river. Down under the bridge and sat on a rock by a wooden beam that looked tired from lifting heavy moving things off the ground. Snow melted and became careless, dripped down onto the gravel road and my leg. I jumped and slid rapidly and tumbling down the dirty, rocky, honest bank.
And they weren't really skipping. I'm up top, see, at the top of the bank. The bank slopes down about fifteen feet I bet. It's pretty steep and made mostly of mud, clay, and vines. So when I throw a stone, or a shell, it don't skip, it more ker-plops. If it's a shell it bounces back up and floats along its way. That's the kind of science I was dealing with.
That night we got sixteen feet of snow and the whole town got to sort of glowing. I saw an old-looking guy raking it up. I couldn't figure out who he thought was going to pay him for that. You can't really help but feel bad about that kind of stuff.
The day glowed off the re-frozen snow ice. I pulled my hat down a little lower. My breath pushed past all the dry air up on its way to God. "Whose are you?" I asked a squirrel, pretending it was a dog. It looked at me for two seconds and then ran halfway up a tree. I walked over to the old park, with the baseball diamond, sandbox, swingset, river. Down under the bridge and sat on a rock by a wooden beam that looked tired from lifting heavy moving things off the ground. Snow melted and became careless, dripped down onto the gravel road and my leg. I jumped and slid rapidly and tumbling down the dirty, rocky, honest bank.