The Browns Skip Town

Articles

Holly Winter
Living The Life Of Holly

The Browns Skip Town
June 28, 2003

My mom just left a teary message on my answering machine.

“Well. Cindy and Kenny Brown stopped by. Their parents sold their house. They flew in to help with the move. They came to say good bye.”

She sniffled. She coughed.

“So. Where are you?”

She sniffled.

“That’s it. They’ll never be back this way again. They have no reason to return. Their parents are gone. Why would they come back?”

She sniffled.

“Cindy was your good friend for years. When is the last time you called her or wrote to her? Now she’s gone. You’ll never see her again.”

Oh. I wasn’t worried about catching up with Cindy. Someday we would run into each other. We will be in some remote far away place and find the time to remember our long ago friendship. I wasn’t worried about that. I was preoccupied with something that had upset me long ago when the Browns had first moved in…

You see. Thirty years ago the six kids in my family had laid a claim on their property. I know. We were a little bit shorter than we are now, but that doesn’t mean that we weren’t serious about loving that piece of property.

We had built a tri-level leaf fort on the side of the hill that was a sight to behold. Really. It was layers of wood and, well, leaves. Sure. We would climb around on it and throw worms at each other and have a generally good time with the other twenty or so other kids on the mountain. We loved that leaf fort with its rotten wood and rotting leaves. It was the perfect place to go if you wanted to escape from your chores, or Danny Kent, whose hair resembled the grimy leaves of that fort. I know. Gross.

Oh. Sure. We had other claims of property on that mountain. There was the frog bog higher up the mountain that held the promise of slippery scum and, you know, a frog or two. There was always a midst hanging over the area that made you wonder if there were human sized frogs in there as well as pocket sized frogs. And that rocky path through the center of the bog that took me years to be able to cross without falling in? I became really good at pushing the younger kids in when my arms grew longer. It was all a part of being a kid on the mountain.

And there was the cave where we loved to dig for arrowheads. To this day I am mad that arrowheads are nothing more than sharpened rocks. Man. We could have sharpened rocks ourselves. Why the Indians of the area didn’t think to leave us pieces of metal or little clay pots in that cave, I’ll never understand.

So. When the Browns moved in, we were mad that they took away one of our landmarks. Our leaf fort became theirs. I know. It was totally unfair. Suddenly. When we wanted to play there, we had to knock on the door and ask.

“Can we play on OUR leaf fort?”

We would get a wrinkled nose from a kid or a worried brow from a parent. “You mean that bunch of rotten wood in the back?”

“Yes. It’s ours.” We’d say, defensively.

Suddenly our tourist attraction became not only a part of their family name, but it was right outside their back door, as if we had thoughtfully built it right there for their convenience. The fact that they started throwing their leftover kitchen scraps in our treasure chest was all the more upsetting. Oh. I know. Worms are good for composting. Man. Could there have been a bigger insult?

Oh. Sure. As the make up of the neighborhood continued to change, so did our games. We found less time for frogs and more time for baseball. Those neighborhood understood my handicap for sports better than anyone else ever has. We played ball using big green plastic garbage plastic bags for gloves. Man. I could catch any fly ball with a glove that big. I have never found another game, anywhere in the world that let me use a glove that big.

I picked up the phone and dialed my mother’s number.

“Doesn’t Sherry still live down the hill with her family?” I asked.

“Yes. But. One day she’ll move away too.”

“Mother. They’ll be back again. As long as you live there, they’ll be back to visit. They like your stories.”

“No. I’ll never, ever see them again. That’s it. I can feel it in my bones.”

I sighed. Why is it that she has trouble focusing on the positive aspects of life?

Ok. Now. I’m thinking. We should contact a lawyer. Cause. That leaf fort was ours. And. I understand that they got lots of money for their house. Yeah. I know. They skipped town without compensating us in any way for what they rightfully took from us to begin with.

Hmm. We built that leaf fort thirty years ago, and we allowed them to compost it, free of charge, for all of this time. So. Now. I have to wonder. What would they owe us today?

And who’s going to be the one to drive to North Carolina to knock on their door with the bill? (Hey. Does anyone know what ever happened to Danny Kent?)

------------

About the author: Holly Winter is a teacher and a writer and a flight attendant living in Denver, Colorado, USA. She can be reached at her website or email: Holly@livingthelifeofholly.com

Comment on this column in the forum.
------------