Grandpa said “Clear up all the sticks in the yard” as he and Grandma left for town.
Not a soul around for miles, the echoing silence called for action!
Exiled from California to the farm for summer
Mark was a flame of rebellion. I heard he caused big trouble in middle school
It was exciting to be around an older boy, a troublemaker cousin
Not yet tamed, he took command.
Running to the fields, we staggered up towering irrigation sprinklers.
As his worshippers, we bowed our sweaty bodies in water jets
over endless rows of corn whipping in a hot bug-filled prairie wind,
Whoop-whooping our delight as kings of the world in that moment.
He jangled keys in our faces to Grandpa’s dusty old Pontiac
My brother and I scrambled wordlessly
into the back as he fumbled with the ignition – varoom!
We crept out the gravelly glide of driveway
across the deep dank ditch onto the road away from the farms safety.
My heart beat quick
like the swallows that swirled above us
their bug catching dance on a prairie blue canvas
I was too thrilled to be afraid
Out on the road he gained confidence.
We screeched in exhilaration, urging him faster
Peeking over the seat at the blurry road, the needle showing
Thirty, Forty, Fifty miles an hour
Gravel dust collected in my hair and mouth as we flew
Sixty Seventy, “EIGHTY MILES AN HOUR!” my brother let out
“Enough, slow down!” I managed to whimper as fear rose in my parched throat
Releasing the gas, he realized the danger, the responsibility.
Now cautiously, he returned us to the farms embrace and Grandpa’s task
For us to hold that secret adventure forever in our hearts.
