Waiting on a friend.

Waiting on a friend.

A Story by Thomas Pynk

A true story from my childhood.



 It was a Louisiana summer day. The sun was high, the sky and the air was humid and sticky. And me? I was outside, locked outside to be more specific. As I slowly came to realize that I would be stuck out on the porch of an old farmhouse in the dead heat of summertime until I heard the click clack of my grandfather's old Fordpickup and knew my dad had returned. I started to regret my decision to stay behind on his trip to the Wal-mart. Iwas visiting my grandparents in Louisiana and enjoying myself most of the time. It was a nice little break fromthe normal California routine.

 But God, the weather was absolutely horrid. I felt a cold bead of sweat run down the back of my neck and mylong hair was not helping me in the least. I was sitting on the porch of my grandparent's old two story white farmhouse, it's paint peeling and it's brick path that leads to the door a relic of the civil war. As I sat on the porch looking out over my grandparent's tremendously large front yard, at least an acre across and two long, as I sat there I began to let my mind wander and I started to think...

and I thought...

and thought...

and sweat... 

and thought...

and just sat there thinking for the very longest time, until that old Rolling Stones tune "Waiting on a Friend" entered my mind. I started to hum the tune as I sat there on the faded green porch swing that hung from the rafters above me, swaying back and forth in the humid August breeze. While I sat there, I started to remember. Nothing important or profound, really just little insignificant things. The first time I heard the Beatles, looking out over the ocean atop a seaside cliff, or when I was little and knew the theme songs to all of the Saturday morning cartoons by heart. I thought about these things and a collection of other things for a while, until the silence of ahot summer day was broken by the pitter patter of a dog's paws.

    The paws belonged to my grandparent's dog, Roscoe. The old dog was at least fifteen years old, no joke. She was a stray and wandered around here one night. So my grandfather started to feed the old girl and she stuck around. She's been living under this house ever since. About thirteen years I believe. That kinda made me sad.

That kinda made me really sad.

Not the part where she got a home but the part that she is fifteen and probably won't be around for much longer. That sucks.  It seriously does. Roscoe isn't what you might call friendly, but she's not mean either. She just stays under the house all day or sits on the porch just watching people go by.......

I figured that she's pretty happy , not having to deal with idiots all day.


Besides the humidity and the heat, it was a pretty nice day out. The giant green oaks gently waved back and forth in the soft summertime breeze. Green ivy grew ever so slowly up the side of a white farmhouse windows. It's foundation creaked from neglect, asking for that long needed repair.

    The scent of a BBQ suddenly filled my nostrils and my mouth began to water. When this occurred, I started to get anxious about getting back inside to get some food. I stared to get a little pissed off at the fact that I hurried my father out so fast, so I could be alone. I forgot to leave the doorstop in front of the door and as a result it locked. I started to bang on the door cursing myself for being so stupid. "Just calm down." I told myself quietly. I knew that I needed to relax so I sat down in one of the many rocking chairs littering the porch. I took in a deep breath and let my body and mind relax.

It was starting to get late now and I wondered what was taking my dad so long on his trip to the Wal-mart. The hot afternoon air had been replaced with a cooler but still hot dusk breeze. The air was telling me that the skeeters would be out soon. Maybe you've been down to the southland and understand what I'm talking about. These bugs will just eat you alive. The puny little skeeters in california are nothing compared to the massive swarms of the things down south. As it got later and later, darker and darker, the sounds of the night started to begin. In Louisiana the nights at some points are louder than the day. A million insects and animals awaken to roam the night, and I can hear them all. 

 It was nice to be there on the porch alone with my thoughts. "I don't think I've ever been alone this long before", I remember saying to myself at a certain point. Just before the sun set, I started to play a game to pass the time. The game was to see how far back I could rock in a rocking chair without falling off. Well, guess what? I found out. I fell over and off the porch into the tall grass. There I sat for a long while in the cool dusk air.Then suddenly I broke out in a nervous sweat and got incredibly anxious. I couldn't move. It's not that I didn't want to move or I was too tired, I couldn't move. I felt that if I moved, I would start to fall....



straight to the earth's hot, molten, lava core. In that moment I felt the color drain from my face and my sense of reason and consciousness tumble to the ground. I'm flying, high in the sky. I am a bird with no limits to the places I can go. 

    I flew higher and higher and higher until I broke through the clouds. I could feel the rays of the sunset bounce off my cheek as I glided, cutting through the summertime air.I am a balloon, weightless floating up up up to the heavens. 

But not really. Really I was still lying in the tall grass next to my grandparent's house. Really, I was just a boy waiting for daddy to come and let him his grandparents house. Really, I was just alone and bored. Nothing else. Just bored. But as I sat there in the tall grass, I gotta tell ya, I was pretty happy. No toys, no games, no idiot people. Just me and my thoughts.

    I could keep telling you about how I must have laid in that patch of tall grass for forty-five minutes. I could tell you how my grandfather's car broke down on the way back from Wal-mart. Or I could tell you how soundly I slept that night. But I won't. Because it is late and the story gets pretty dry. So I will leave you now and go to sleep.



© 2009 Thomas Pynk

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Thomas Pynk
This is very old.

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Added on August 24, 2009