My Fifteenth Year

It was the lovely summer of my fifteenth year; my pal Paul, same age as I, had ridden out on a sortie, early in the morning, up into the foothills, on dirt roads and paved, with our time worn bicycles. We were fully in search of a 'nudist colony', we had heard tell of in the area...it could have been anywhere, inside a thousand square miles...we didn't care...it was the summer of our fifteenth year.

That afternoon, back home, he and I shared lunch at my  place, and well famished we were. Paul's dad was a bible thumper, his mom, a bible thumper's follower...so Paul had to 'fear the Lord' quite often. After he rushed off home, I got out my little 'Fox Doodlebug' motor scooter, kissed mom a peck, said hi to dad and split...for up the road somewhere.

I played around with the Randall boy or one of my other mates...we climbed a great tree, for the 'look see'...two hundred foot in the air...Jesus...I made it clear to the top, had pitch and scratches all over me coming back down. That little scooter and I had 'history' together, it's chain, more often off than on, my hands, more often greasy, a real boy boy thing.

But I got er going, and back home we rolled and blared...for the muffler was quite noisy. We ripped along at thirty, top speed, 'cept down a hill, and I ducked my  head to make me 'aerodynamic' as 'Doodlebug' and I shot down that hill. I just caught site of a shadowed beast, with a load of logs, a logging truck...came round me...like we was standing still.

But that wasn't the piece...a boy forgets a logging truck...it was that big metal part, sticking straight out in the traffic lane...there to hold the load...had kicked it's cotter key and fell...but god protected me 'aerodynamically' that day, and then, it passed and disappeared from view...but never memory.

I was a mile from home...already forgot my luck, my grace, my god, in a cloud of foolish boy, as I saw our driveway coming into sight...there it was...that monster Fir, sentinel of our front yard...with that enormous root, just...stickin' out there like a ramp...what was I thinking...absolutely nothing as me and old Doodle took that ramp, and straight up that tree...

Till gravity made the fool of me...and down we fell. Dad heard the sound, came running out, and mom. I couldn't breath...every bit of air knocked out of me...dad stood over me and smiled..."Son" he said, "You are a damned fool!" Not the first time I'd heard that truth...nor the last...neither was that old Foxie and me's last ride...it was the summer of my fifteenth year...


Written by Bruce James Clyde 2015

Photo: by unknown credit