Just Playing

Just Playing

Simon peddled his bike through the woods, bumping crazily over the deeply rutted dirt path. He sped up as the path elevated to a gently sloping grade. His legs pumped in a blur like insane locomotive wheels. He laughed maniacally.

His ape-hangered blue steed galloped over the earth fleet-footedly. The stallion was named Whiteboots of Lightening, Boots for short, named for his white-walled tires. In his mind’s eye Boots was of course not blue, how silly would that be? Childish to believe in a blue horse…his stallion was sleek shiny black, like the one in that famous story…only his had white feet and a lightening shaped white blaze on his forehead. 

His little sister Mavis (who would always be Sissy, or Sissy-Pants to him, cuz she hated it) used to have yellow streamers on the handlebars of her little green tricycle. She rode past Simon one day and he noticed how they waved and fluttered…like a horse’s tail. He had easily outrun her, grabbed her handlebars to stop her, and yanked the streamers out from the rubber handles. She had cried, “It’s not fair!” He had laughed and run to their garage where Boots was waiting for his new tail.

The path ahead narrowed and flame colored maple leaves crowded the tunnel. It was like sailing through a ring of fire, or a portal to hell. As he soared through, he shouted, “Go Boots, c’mon boy!” Simon’s heart was pumping fast, fluttering like a bird’s…

A second later, there was no earth under Simon’s wheels (Boots’ hooves)- he was airborne!

“Whoo hooooo!”

A ‘Perfect 10’ jump, as exciting as a roller coaster; every time he sped up the dirt path as it rose, his goal was to catch more air and sail farther. 

Simon’s back wheel landed first. The front tire above his head. A poof of pale dust clouded behind him and whisped into the breeze.

“Ah yeah!” He fisted the air. His bike continued down the slope to the river on autopilot.

Down at the river, Simon dumped his bike and re-lived the mega-jump. Epic! He decided to ask Stan if he wanted to play the next day even though he thought the scrawny kid was a total dork; a dork who just got a Go-Pro for his birthday. Simon often picked on him in school. He did so out of jealousy because Stan was so darn smart. 

They’d built a fort together about a month ago, with lumber they’d pilfered from one of the many construction sites at the edge of town. Instead of dragging only long flat boards into the woods with Simon’s Radio Flyer, Stan had grabbed smaller scraps of two by fours as well. Simon had scoffed but when they were finished, the new fort was a hundred times cooler than any Simon had ever built before, looking more like a pirate ship than a whino’s shack. Stan brought a jolly roger flag and his Go-Pro, Simon brought Bruce, Sissy’s favorite teddy bear, as a sacrifice to Neptune when they christened their new ship. 

Sissy had discovered the kidnapping shortly after the crime was committed, as Bruce was never far from her gravity, and ran into the woods after them. They weren’t hard to find, she followed the sounds of their laughter and discovered the ship. At the end of a four-foot plank was Bruce. The teddy was slumped over the edge of the plank, limp because half his stuffing was torn out, it lay in clumps like a small snowdrift under the board. Sissy had screamed when she found Bruce’s head under the fluffy white stuffing. She had dropped it in horror as if it was covered in blood. Then she had run to the bear’s body, but Simon had stopped her with his pirate’s sword (plastic light saber) “Not so fast wench. The first mate is a goner. Attacked by a fierce hungry tiger he was! Yar…a huge tiger…”

“B-b-but this a ship.” She’d pointed a pudgy finger at the flag. “P-p-pirate ship.”

“Yar! We were taking the tiger to a zoo. Yar. He escaped his cage and blammo! Rip rip rip! Too late to be saved, we really tried, honest we did.”

“It’s not fair! He never did anything to you, you big meany!”

Stan had had the decency to look ashamed. He was an only child and not accustomed to hearing little girls cry. He’d plucked the limp raggedy body off the plank and tossed it at Sissy. It flopped against her heaving chest then fell to the ground. As she picked it up, Simon said, “Aw take yer dumb bear, we were done with it anyways.” He had picked up the head and hurled it at her, nailing her square in the forehead. 

She’d snitched that night to their mom. He’d made her pay. It had been the last time she’d snitched.

Now, at the river, he daydreamed about adding a ramp to his jump, and that made him think of building another fort, a spaceship maybe. Days spent building a fort were as great as the ones catching tadpoles, better in fact, since he had yet to have a taddy survive long enough to become an awesome frog. They always croaked- pun intended, “ha ha!” he laughed out loud. He thought himself a kind boy, one who never failed to say a little eulogy with every flush of the toilet handle. 

With a ramp he could catch even more air! He rubbed his dirty hands together like Mr. Evil Snidely after tying the damsel to the railroad track. 

Mr. Evil Snidely was a character in his cast that he played when his pals were not able to come over. The scenario was one in which he tormented Sissy-Pants; the victim, one of her dollies. Oh no Sissy, the trains-a-comin! Don’t you come near the tracks; can’t you hear it? WHOOT WHOOOOOT! Sissy was kept in her place by the threat of decapitation of the poor helpless damsel, you step a foot closer, and I’ll yank it right off! You know I can. Mua ha ha ha ha. Then he'd gallop across the neatly mown lawn (He wasn’t allowed to play noisy games in the house- no trains, cowboys, galloping anything) and duck around the corner of the house. I’m watching you… Then he’d come galloping back in his faux beaver-felt cowboy hat or his moth-eaten racoon cap, complete with bushy tail ringed in black stripes. 

In the mini-Stetson-esque one he was Rock Courage, Sheriff of Schmittville, blazing in to save the day with his shiny silver revolver held high to ward off any Injuns lookin to make a meal of the struggling distressed damsel on the tracks. 

If he galloped back in the raccoon cap, he was Doc Courage, Rock’s equally handsome brother. Doc was an explorer who passed through town on occasion or when called upon to rescue some poor babe in danger of losing a limb to leprosy or some other such rare and horrible disfiguring affliction, he was, after all, the most highly acclaimed doctor in all the land, Schmittville and beyond. And if the patient was beyond curing, he’d put it down with a blast from his trusty Red Ryder, loaded with monster exploding bullets, equally good for ridding the land of those pesky injuns. In either scenario, the weeping old Miz Sissypants, would inevitably be knocked to the ground in the fallout. 

Just last week they’d played, and he had said, “Don’t you dare go crying to Mom.”

Her face had screwed up, red cheeks puffed like apples, the steam building in her panting chest, ready to let go an ear-shattering wail…only the screams of a little girl stomping in frustration could reach such high-pitched heights…ears bled, and dogs ran for the hills. At last, the air in her balloon cheeks had escaped in a thin wheeze. She had stamped her little Mary Janes and cried, “It’s not fair! You’re bigger than me!”

“That’s right. I am.” He had pushed her and when she landed on her bottom he added, “Get used to it. I’ll always be bigger than you.”

He sat by the river; it was cool and clear amidst the reeds and cattails. He was stoked to beat his air record. The day was perfect. He put his hands behind his head and was about to lay back and look at the clouds and think about his ramp.

A movement on the other side of the river caught his eye.

He sat up straight and realized a kid was sitting across the river, leaning against the sloping grassy bank, just as he had been, a red bicycle lay on its side beside him. How had Simon not noticed? It was as if he’d popped out of thin air. As if feeling Simon’s curious eyes on him, the figure in the brown hoodie sat up too and after a couple of seconds, waved.

Simon waved back. The other kid beckoned Simon over to his side. 

Simon said, “But this river’s totally ragin’, I’ll get soaked!”

“That’s dumb. It’s just a little creek, not a raging river! Here. Let’s put some rocks down, two each side should be fine!”

Each boy dropped two large rocks on their side of the river. Then Simon leapt onto each one and onto the far bank, laughing. “That was fun! You should try it. Pretend it’s really a river and---”

“Naw.”

“Oh. Okay. You’re right. That’s silly. I’m Simon.” He lifted his fist for a bump.

“Sandy.” They bumped fists and Sandy added a little finger burst with sound effects, “Whoosh.”

“Heh heh. Cool.” Simon copied the act, complete with a “Whoosh.” He noted that he was a couple of inches taller than the other boy and that suited him just fine. He was uncomfortable around kids that were bigger than him.

“Hey you wanna come over?” asked Sandy. My mom’s making snacks. I’ve been binge watching Lost in Space.”

“I love Lost in Space! Sure.”

Sandy picked up his bike. Simon had never seen anything like it. The frame was thick in the middle, the seat was a saddle centered between the front and back forks, each of which resembled thin red arms with claws grasping the wheel hubs. There was a face like a horse’s mounted between the handlebars, and the handlebars were shaped like horns. The face had bright yellow eyes with cat-like pupils.

Simon said, “Rad bike dude! Did yer pops make it for you?”

“Something like that.”

Sandy pulled ahead as the path narrowed and descended downwards.

Simon said, “Hey, this is a great hill! It looks just like the one on my side. I’m going to build a ramp so I can jump my hor---uh, bike even higher! You’ll have to check it out. Say…you ever jump this hill?”

           “Sure. Plenty of times…”

           “How high’d you get? I think I’ve gotten ten feet at least.”

           They’d reached the bottom and Simon pointed to a spot on a nearby pine that he figured was about ten feet from the ground. 

           Sandy said, “I’ve sailed over that tree.”

           Simon gawped, his mouth hung open. Then Sandy laughed, his hand over his mouth, and Simon realized he was joking. He said, “That would be so cool.”

Just like on Simon’s side of the creek, the road was about a half mile through the woods. The suburban neighborhood looked much the same as well…only it was deserted. No people on the sidewalks, no moms with strollers, no dads mowing the lawns…and man, those lawns could use a mow. No cats or dogs… no birds. The place was lifeless and silent as a grave.

“It’s that one over there.” Simon jumped as Sandy broke the silence. He had the urge to run back into the woods.

“They’re all at church,” Sandy said, noting his new friend’s uneasiness.

“It’s Saturday…”

“Yeah, folks ‘round here attend the Proxima services Saturdays.” He pointed west down the street. “The church is down that way a few blocks.”

“Like Scientology or something?”

“Mm. Something like that.” Sandy shrugged. They strode up the walkway and just before the steps, Sandy laid his bike down in the tall grass. As he did so, the late afternoon sun caught the fine iridescent flakes in the red paint and flashed so brightly in the yellow eyes that for just a split second, one appeared to wink at him. 

“Huh.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“C’mon in.”

As Simon walked past Sandy, he realized the boy was actually the same height as he was. He figured they’d been standing on uneven ground.

 Inside the kitchen, the aroma of fresh baked cinnamon rolls filled the air. There was a dozen of them, dripping with thick creamy icing, on a cooling rack on the granite countertop. Sandy plated a couple and said, “The living room has a bigger tv in it.”

Simon realized Sandy must have a tv of his own. Wow.

In the living room, they sat on floor cushions with their backs against a leather sofa. The tv before them was gi-normous, and flat, when Sandy hit the remote the picture bloomed into life and hidden surround sound speakers blasted their ears.

Simon exclaimed, “Wow man. This is like being in a movie theater!”

Sandy pushed the cinnamon roll plate over as he bit into one himself. “Mmmm. Mom puts a little surprise treat in the centers.”

Simon bit so deeply into his icing gooshed from the sides of his mouth and oozed down his chin. He’d bitten to the center. It was a sort of jelly, chewy like gummy bears, with a slightly salty taste. He wasn’t sure he liked it.

“Good huh?’

“Uh…yeah.”

Simon pulled apart the rest of his cinnamon roll for a better look at the jelly. It was a gooey circular shape squished flat where his teeth made impressions in it. He pulled it out and slipped it into his hoodie pocket quickly before his friend could see. “Mmmm. Good.”

They watched an episode of Lost in Space. Sandy laughed hysterically at the super scary parts, covering his mouth with his hands, a nervous habit. At one point a truly terrifying space creature was getting the best of Robot, Sandy was laughing, Simon was terrified. By the end of it, Simon was beginning to think there was a screw loose in Sandy’s head. 

After the episode, Sandy said, “Wanna see my room?”

“Sure.”

The walls of Sandy’s room were plastered with outer space posters: The Milky Way, the constellations, the earth from afar, and more than a dozen of a planet he thought must be Venus or Pluto. He found it odd because it was so plain looking, not like Saturn, or the giant, Jupiter. The posters were top quality and looked like genuine photographs.

Simon said, “What’s this one? It’s kinda boring.”

“That’s Proxima. It’s not boring at all, its atmosphere is very much like earth’s.”

“I’ve nev---”

Just then a high-pitched squeal volted out from behind them. Simon whirled and searched for its source.

Sandy said, “That’s Sid. He’s just hungry.”

They went to a glass tank on the desk by the window. Sid was a gerbil. 

With six beady black eyes...

And a mouth full of needle-like teeth. It gnashed them together and drooled. Every eye was focused on Simon. It stood up on its hind legs and walked like a human to the glass. Simon saw four more legs dangling from its pudgy body. It shrieked and clawed at the glass as if trying to dig its way out. Simon backed away until he felt something hard and pointy pressing into his back.

He turned around. Sandy was holding the coolest toy ray-gun Simon had ever seen.  Impossibly, Sandy was now two inches taller than Simon. He grinned wide, ear to ear, his teeth were slick grey like varnished pewter, and …pointy. Simon backed away, confused. Sandy pointed the ray-gun at the floor and fired it. A blinding green-white beam shot from its tip, and a smoking black hole the size of a silver dollar appeared an inch from Simons left toe.

He only took his eyes off Sandy for a second, when he looked at him again, the thing that was not a boy at all was now four inches taller than him. Sandy laughed.

It was the laugh of a little girl. Simon’s blood went icy as the thing started chanting, “It’s not fair…it’s not fair…it’s not fair…”

Simon turned and ran like he’d never run before.

Outside, it was just after sunset, cold, and darkening fast. He lifted the thing’s bike from the grass and pedaled faster than he ever had before, the bike was lightning fast!

Through the woods he raced. In minutes he was at the slope. The bike didn’t slow as it ascended. It went even faster. It sailed off the top…and upwards…high. The saddle between his thighs was warm. It expanded and contracted. 

Breathing. Alive. 

From under the saddle wings unfurled. They were membranous like a bat’s, almost see-through, and runnelled with thick veins. From before him, a barking sound erupted. 

Laughter. 

He was flying over the pine forest. The whooshing of the wings was like wind from a giant bellows. His eyes watered fiercely.

“Please. Please let me down.”

“Ark ark ark ark!”

They flew low over the suburban neighborhood- his neighborhood. Over his yard, the living, flying thing flipped over and sent him sprawling downward. The land met him fast and hard. He whumped onto the grass on his back, the wind knocked out of him.

From miles away, he heard his sister calling his name.

Then she was there looking down at him. “Whatchoo doin down there silly-pants? Mom’s been callin you for supper. You’re in troooo-bell…heeeeey, what dat?”

“For you Mavis, it’s a gummy.”

“Ooooh, tank you Simy.” He reverently placed the squished eyeball in her pale little hand.