I
He was a walking storybook that held an old, musty scent of mothballs
He told me stories of when he was a boy, how he dared his friends to climb a mountain to prove the apparition they saw wasn't a ghost
He always closed with, as we peered over the ledge it went Moo!
It was a cow! Scared Jack shitless!
I'd always laugh
no matter how many times he told this story
II
I'd see him pace outside his yard; a distance unmeasurable
The wife and him didn't get along these days
she had a profound adoration for her bell collection and juicy neighborhood gossip over steaming, black coffee
I often took his side
She always bought me ugly sweaters, I wore around her, so she didn't think I was an ungrateful child
III
I get off the bus and he is waiting for me. He walks me home.
He tells me the cow story again and I still laugh uncontrollably
It never gets old. but he does. Yesterday, he finally came back home and today he looks as though he has aged ten more years
IV
I'm being chased by a huge bumble bee. A mutant bumble bee.
I run to the Dunlap's house and bang on their door. I recall the first time I had trespassed on their lawn. Mr Dunlap seemed almost crazed,
Get off my property, ya little brats! and today he's teaching me the difference between bumble bees and hummingbirds
V
Weeks later, I walk up and down the park, sighing. It has been days and I can't seem to push this feeling. I try to build up the courage to talk to Mrs. Dunlap and ask her to see her husband. She watches her ice skating and tells me to sit with her. I watch too. But she never speaks.
I never saw Mr. Dunlap that day.
Bronze trophy winner
Honorable mention
Adding your comment:
This was a story told... the other was mere ghost of recollection. This had emotion and feeling - a wonderful collection of moments that painted a whole picture of love.
