When the Story Gets Lost in Time- Part 2

Yes, well, Walter and me.

 Don't think I ever officially met Walter.

My encounter with Walter was unexpected 

and very brief.

I will tell it the best possible way 

with time edits and embellishments.

My Dad always talked about Walter

 like he was a very old man.

Somehow I thought the stories about him

 were from when my Dad grew up

in the same farm home where we lived.

Walter's house was on the back side of the

 60 acre plot of ground next to the house and barn.

One summer day I took a bike ride

"around the block"

which was a 4 mile ride

around the square.

I dumped my bike in a spot of the woods

 where somehow it had been mistaken as a neighborhood

 dumping site. Car pieces, old appliance pieces, sacks of trash.

This past month there were just  dandelion blooms.

I remember creeping up to the house-

it looked quite unkempt even 45 years ago.

Pulled something to the window to stand on to raise myself for a peek.

Pulled back the bush growing close to the foundation to slip by.

 Bridal wreath spirea is painted in my mind's eye.

And peered into the deserted and abandoned house.

With a bowl of strawberries sitting on the kitchen counter by the sink.

Well, isn't that odd?

 On the other side of the room was a sofa- like piece of furniture

 and I in

 "a hands to the sides, scrunched up face, nose to the glass"-
Peek.



Saw something
Move and Sit Up and Look at Me.
Lock Eyes
 and Stand Up.

And my heart stopped.

I think my scream rattled the gates of heaven.

It may have blown a hole in the roof of the house.

I never looked back to see the side door open.

Or saw him when he rounded the corner of the house.

I left the bike.

And ran full- wind flying across the uneven land of

 laid- over soil in big clumpy furrow rows.

Dirt in Spring mode- awaiting planting.

One giant sprint across the length

 of the 60 Acres into the back farm house door.

Sometime later that day, I casually asked my mom

 if she could take the car around the block to get my bike.

I nonchantlantly asked a question about who lived in the house....

and mom knew a few details

 about a man named Walter.

That somehow had ceased to live in my mind.

That I had pieced the tidbits of stories together- all wrong.

And my story did eventually come out at the dinner table.

Especially after my sudden curiosity and questions- about Walter.

And in a head- throwing- back laugh I can hear my dad's roar-

 at an oldest daughter who got it all mixed up.

But, so loved THE STORY- she would risk the unknown.

And somehow in the middle of it all-

 knew that if she needed them-

she had angel wings and could fly.