Georgia (Dreaming Part One) Ch. 12

Chapter 12
Lilburn, GA, Winter 1992

Running

I love this place.  It is my almost favorite so far. While at home I still have to be in bed at seven every evening after too many scriptures and never enough money -but I am getting better at sneaking out.  I wait until the house is asleep and moonlight climbs up the walls. Then I slip out and down the trail.  At the end of the trail, behind the house, is a stream that feeds the nearby Yellow River.   Chelsea, the Aussie my Dad gave to Mom in New Orleans for her birthday, follows me eagerly. 

She is as much of a kid as any of my siblings except that she keeps her front paws immaculately white.  I have begun to copy her and scrub my fingernails more.  In New Orleans, I used to open my window to let her in my room and on my bed at night.  She would wake me up in time to put her outside before we were found out.

Here she is allowed in the house all the time.  She has grown up understanding my eyes and my hands as I understand her eyes and her paws.  She can walk more silently then me.   

During the weekends I make believe there are fairies living in the steam’s shiny green moss.  I build tiny huts for them.  The Wind Woman comes through the trees, the leaves laugh together, bringing the sound of rain.  I jump to my feet and run across the stream that feeds the nearby Yellow River.  I head to the path along the River and racing as fast as I can, cheered on by gossiping trees. She always beat me.

We live in a large house and the neighbor, Kyle; he likes to run with me.  The nights are alive with fireflies in the summer.   Here the caterpillars don’t sting and although I can walk barefoot on the sidewalk there are rattlesnakes to look out for.  There aren’t nearly as many lizards and toads.  When the rains come it is a fantastic display of clouds and lightening above.  People are kinder but more aloof. Mom lets us play in the front yard, it is safer here.  School is far less interesting but no one is mean. 

It SNOWED this winter.  This is magic because is once snowed in New Orleans.  There is was a light strange dusting, like white feathers.  If I touched it, it disappeared.

This time, here, it was Real snow; bright brittle burning snow.  It transformed everything.  My Dad was gone when it happened and all houses lost power.  My Mom hung blankets over all the windows and doors, enclosing us into the lower living room where there was a wood burning fireplace.  Our neighbors brought us fuel for the fire and we stayed like that for three days until a different neighborhood regained power and we were invited to stay there until our neighborhood had power too. 

There were two or three inches of ice on all roads, sidewalks and our steep driveway, which is why we couldn’t get the car out.  I ventured out and explored it alone; gloating in the strangeness.  My feet were aching with cold as snow melted and soaked my tennis shoes.  I don’t ever remember being cold like that, it was fascinating.  The air was silent, eerie silent.  Then, as the weather changed and warmed it was as if a huge crowd of voices were in the trees behind our house. Snow crashed to the floor, birds whistled and my footsteps crunched and echoed.