[Date Prev][Date Next][Thread Prev][Thread Next][Date Index][Thread Index]

Re: [at-l] So, anyway...

I do enjoy your writing!!!

> From: Felix <athiker@smithville.net>
> To: AT-list <at-l@backcountry.net>
> Subject: [at-l] So, anyway...
> Date: Wednesday, August 04, 1999 1:56 AM
> So, I was sitting with my back against the split-rail fence in the front 
> yard. I was throwing a tennis ball against the limestone steps of the 
> front porch. As it bounced back, I imagined that I was Brooks Robinson 
> fielding every 'grounder' that came my way.
> I heard a bit of a commotion from down the street. I turned my head just 
> a bit and looked through the fence. A man with a rucksack and a mutt were

> walking down the other side of the street. The Mason's dog was barking at

> them plenty. I kept throwing my tennis ball, but watched the man all the 
> while.
> As the man and dog walked by, I could hear him mumbling to the dog. 
> Talking like he was expecting the dog to answer. The dog never did, that 
> I know of. They made their way down the sidewalk, and I went back to 
> playing third base. I could hear the neighbors talking a bit, and 
> everyone was kinda watchin' without lookin'.
> "Hey! Who is that?" Jimmy Shiflet asked in a whisper loud enough to hear 
> across the street.
> "Never seen him before" I whispered back, motioning for Jimmy to join me.
> "Tony Stratt's mom says he's been sleeping down at the railyard for three

> days. He's a bum!" Jimmy informed me.
> "Wow! I wonder where he's going. Look at those clothes."
> About that time Mrs. Purtlebaugh walks out on the front porch with 
> lemonade. It still had lemon slices in it. I loved that. "What's everyone

> lookin' at?" she asked.
> "There's a bum over there" I said, pointing from behind the wisteria.
> "Who said he's a bum?" she asked.
> "Tony Stratt's mom" I told her.
> "Everyone's a bum to Tony Stratt's mom. Now, you boys go on and play. I'm

> gonna take our friend a glass of lemonade."
> "You're gonna what? He's a hobo. He might be crazy."
> "Crazy? My lands" she said as she made her way through the gate. Me and 
> Jimmy got behind our wisteria cover and watched in disbelief. Mrs. 
> Purtlebaugh walked right up to the man and handed him a glass of 
> lemonade. She stood and talked while he drank, and occasionally she'd 
> bend and pet the mutt. After a few minutes, she turned and headed back to

> the safty of porch. As she passed us, still beind the wisteria, she said 
> "Hmmm, he's from Texas."
> Well, a couple of days went by and the man and dog were seen about town. 
> I think folks were finally starting to get used to them. Jimmy said he 
> even saw them go into Skree's Diner. The novelty was wearing off.
> Mrs. Purtlebaugh was cutting my hair on the front porch. We could hear 
> the Mason's dog barking and Mrs. Purtlebaugh said "I'll bet that's Mr. 
> Samson coming." Sure enough, in a few seconds Mr. Samson came into view, 
> his mutt right behind. Mrs. Purtlebaugh went back to cutting my hair. 
> All the sudden there was a loud screech. Things kinda stopped for a 
> second. Mr. Page's station wagon was sitting crooked in the street. Mr. 
> Samson rushed to the front of the car and bent over. When he stood up, he

> was sobbing loudly, holding the dog close to his chest. He carried the 
> dog to the curb and sat down, crying all the while.
> "Oh, my word..." Mrs. Purtlebaugh said, somber as the mood.
> "It was just a mutt" I said.
> Mrs. Purtlebaugh looked at me with a mixture of pain and anger and 
> sorrow. I had never seen that look before. "There's no such thing as 
> 'just', when you're talking about a life."
> (For Jessie H.
> "Until we meet again")
> -- 
> Felix J. McGillicuddy
> ME-->GA '98
> "Your Move"
> Stop and see me at:  http://members.tripod.com/~Felixhikes/index.html
> * From the Appalachian Trail Mailing List |  http://www.backcountry.net  *
* From the Appalachian Trail Mailing List |  http://www.backcountry.net  *