Thursday, September 10, 2009

The Swing

(Writers Note: Well i signed up for a creative writing class at BYU, so I should be posting a lot more stuff on here.)

Applying the cream hurt more than the actual sores. But it was better than dealing with cracked and bleeding skin. Allergies, that’s what mom called them. All Barrett knew was he had been to plenty of doctors, and all they could give him was this cream and told him to stay inside.
But being outside was just so fun. Preston, Barrett’s older brother was down by the river, hanging a rope swing. Just before he left, he taunted Barrett, “Hey why don’t you come? It’ll be fun. We’ll get the swing up; then we can show off for the Bailey twins.”
Mom glared at Preston, and he’d run outside before any words escaped her mouth.
So Barrett had the lecture about staying inside so the sores didn’t get any worse. But now, Mom was distracted. Hidden in the laundry room, the sounds of the house didn’t rise above the swirl and tumble of the washer and dryer. Barrett planed his escape.
The basement window lay hidden behind rose bushes. Barrett slowly opened the window, climbed out the window well, and crept into the garage to get his bike.
He froze! He heard Mom’s distant voice, traveling down the stairs and through the still open window. Ride like the devil, or scamper back to the basement? It wasn’t even a choice. The wind flew through Barrett’s hair, as he rode fast as his legs could carry him the quarter mile to the river. Excitement flowed through his veins. He didn’t even feel the cracking scabs that riddled his skin.
Preston’s eyes widened for a second as Barrett appeared at the crest of the bank. He’d be getting it tonight. “Barrett, I wondered when you’d make it.” Preston grabbed Jimmy, young neighborhood nuisance, who was making a beeline for the swing. “Let’s see how for you go.”
Barrett shimmied up the tree, and the blond Bailey twin squealed as he reached the swing. The flight through the air was freedom, for the normally housebound boy. The river, full or pollen, pesticides and other allergens, was cool bliss.
Barrett made three jumps before Mom came bellowing and drug the two miscreants back to the house. Preston didn’t even care that he lost his freedom for the rest of the week. He and Barrett spent the week drawing plans for a tree house and talking to the Bailey twins through the basement window.
Later that day, after an hour bath and plenty of salve for the wounds, Barrett saw mother, playing the piano. “Well, at least something makes her cry,” he thought as he saw a pair of tears on her face.
Late that night, after a fresh layer of cream, and a scolding from Father, Barrett and Preston lay in their beds. “You know what Barrett; you were awesome on the swing today.”
Barrett, mumbled half way to a contented sleep, “yeah, it was fun… it was fun.”

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