How could sitting in the weeds be so much fun? We kids – my sister and three cousins – loved it. The weeds were in the vacant lot between my Uncle Mark’s Texaco station and their house. I sometimes sneaked out to go to the vacant lot alone, just to enjoy the smells and look at the pale summer sky. Lying in the weeds with the dry crackling grass smell, I’d look up at the red Texaco star on the metal sign hanging above the deserted street, paint peeling. It creaks a little in the light summer breeze. I move to the porch in front of the station to sit against the machine that sells Coca Cola. I lean my head backward to look up at the clear, shiny red of the machine, so bright and promising of life outside the little town, luring me to go where everything is shiny and new. Since I know how to shake the machine – just one jerk back then let it drop – I get my Coke for free. Uncle Mark knows about our sneaky ways, but we all pretend it’s a secret.
With my ice-cold drink (that Uncle Mark had to open with his “church key”) I take my bottle and go out to lie in the weeds again, wondering where the other kids are. I try to see if I can drink from my bottle while lying down but get Coke down my front. Yech – a brown stain on my new white tee shirt.
The other kids come out to join me, laughing that they found me. Was I trying to hide? Didn’t work! All five of us hide in the vacant lot, cross-legged with our heads just below the weeds, thinking we can’t be seen. A favorite pastime is to sing stupid songs. Probably the same ones you sang. Very sophisticated.
“Great green gobs of greasy grimy gopher guts…”
Good alliteration at least.
Time to go and Dad comes out of the shop, dressed in khakis, his hands dark brown with dirt and oil, smelling that petroleumy smell that means fun and jeep rides. But no jeep rides today. Next weekend, maybe.