voices 23

In late August, after school was already back in session, I continued to mow the lawns on Adams Street.

The rest of the summer crew was gone; all back to their colleges or football practice, so I had the whole business to myself.  I’d start early of a morning then.  Didn’t have to wait on anybody and all the folks on Adams had their own mowers so I didn’t need the truck.

It was still summer in a way, but with the other boys being gone and me out this early in the morning and watching the kids walk along to the school it felt like a different time.

I’d have three of the little lawns done before eleven o’clock and by then it was hot, so I’d take my pay and walk over the Thompson’s grocery, right across from the school, and get me a bottle of pop and sit on the steps out front in the shade of the old maples.  I’d drink that pop while I looked at the school and the blue sky and the white clouds and the cars, red and grey, that rumbled over the brick street.

I thought of my own time at the school there and how it had passed and I thought of all the kids inside and how it might be with them when they left.  Whether they would find a place somewhere.

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