"I'm in Fifteenth Grade"

So I'm not going to waste any energy this time on writing eloquently or creatively.  Perhaps this marks a [semi]permanent transition to a simple, journalistic style of reporting on my life.  

Fair enough. 

After a ten mile bike ride & a perfect cup of ice cream, I heard the knock on my door.  

It was a twelve-year-old neighbor boy who asked, "Can you come out & play with us?"

Once I realized I wasn't being punked as part of a boyhood dare or cruel trick, I was out throwing a football with the future. 

to Charlie & Tommy, complete with their half-sized British accents...

to Miles...all too cocky for his pre-teen body...

& to neighbor Brian, the humble one, yet brave enough to assault the castle wall of the big college hermit...

Before reaching their summer curfew lined out by "mum," I got too tired & too blind to see the ball in the darkening sky.  

But, for half of a day's hour, I [re]lived what it must have been like to grow up on a flat, friendly suburban street.  

& "we'll probably be out here tomorrow," the other Brian shouted as I reached the porch.

I hold no reason to be locked inside.