the lazy, hazy days
Summer came again, with its hot, heavy air hanging over us like a warm blanket. We woke to lazy, hazy mornings and stepped outside to breathe in the thick freshness that promised sunshine and, if we were lucky, a brief thunderstorm in the afternoon.
Having learned to love to read during the past year, most mornings I would promptly settle down after breakfast with a book, content to sit and read my summer away. And most mornings my sister and brother would promptly harass me to go outside and play with them. This day was no exception.
“Don’t be so lazy, Sue.” my sister said. “All you do is sit there all day.”
“Yeah, Sue,” my brother chimed in. “Don’t be so lazy.”
They continued to make these astute observations until I finally broke down and put away my book, leaving the Babysitters Club to wait for me until the evening. We put on our bathing suits (why wear anything else?), threw on some shorts for modesty, and out we went into warmth. As was our routine, we immediately went to the garage and got out our bikes and started riding around the circular dirt driveway, keeping to our own traffic laws and speed limits, slowing down near the house and speeding up when we passed the second tree.
After doing this for a while, we then turned our wheels to ride up and down our long driveway, competing to see who could go the fastest. Frustrated that my sister always won, my brother and I claimed boredom and we paused to catch our breath and determine what to do next.
“Let’s go swimming.” Drew said.
“Nah, it’s too early. Let’s do that this afternoon.” Cath replied. “What about playing badminton?”
Knowing she would easily beat us at that game, too, Drew and I readily declined. “Let’s play town,” I suggested. “I’ll run the post office, and Cath can run the gas station. Drew, you can, um…”
“I’ll be the policeman!” Drew exclaimed, getting excited about the idea.
“Alright, let’s do it.” Cath agreed, knowing that running the gas station meant she’d make lots of money.
We gathered in the “town square”, the name we gave the circular dirt driveway, to divvy up our “money.” Piles of small rocks had been collected on previous days; the smaller ones were worth five cents, the medium ten, the largest twenty. We each got an equal amount, shoved them into our pockets, and away we rode to open up our respective shops.
My sister went to the garage to set up the gas station, dragging out the empty gas containers our dad used to fill the lawn mower tank, and standing up the air pump and hose to act as the gas nozzle. She then drew the word “GAS” in the dirt with a stick and was open for business.
Drew decided to make the large grassy field his police station. Cath and I argued that it was a stupid place to have a police station, but he insisted it be there because he was the police officer and he needed a lot of space. Basically he just wanted to run around, so we didn’t put up too much of a fight.
The Post Office was located in the wooded area at the base of our driveway, and a long, fallen pine tree made an ideal counter and row of mailboxes. My task as Postmaster General entailed, well, basically whatever I wanted it to entail. This morning I decided that I would deliver the mail, and tell Cath that there was a package waiting for her at the post office.
I got on my bike and rode around the Town Square a few times. Drew immediately followed me and tried to give me a speeding ticket, but I ignored him as usual and stopped at the gas station.
“Hey there,” I said.
“Do you want some gas?” my sister asked.
“Sue, you were speeding!” My brother interjected.
“I’ve got your mail here,” I told Cath. I handed her several large, dark green maple leaves and a few acorns. “Lots of mail today. That will be fifty cents, please.”
“Thanks, here you go,” she said as she handed me some rocks. “You’d better get some gas soon, because the price is going to go up.”
“Sue, you were speeding!” my brother whined.
“Okay, fill me up.”
She stuck the air pump nozzle to a bolt on the back of my bike. “Shhhhzzzzzzzzz,” she said. “Wow, you were really low! You almost ran out of gas! That will be one dollar.”
“What?!? That’s not fair, you can’t charge a whole dollar! That’s like ten rocks!” I protested.
“I can do whatever I want,” she replied, using her I’m-older-than-you-so-I-can-do-whatever-I-want voice.
An argument ensued, with me refusing to pay ten rocks for gas, my sister refusing to let me ride away on my bike until I paid, and my brother insisting that I come to jail with him because I was speeding.
“I don’t want to play anymore,” my brother complained.
“Yeah, this is boring,” I agreed. “Let’s go swimming or something.”
Cath was clearly annoyed. “You guys are such babies. You don’t even know how to play town! You have to pay me or I’m never going to let you ride your bike ever again.”
Just as I was about to open my mouth to yell “Mom!”, our mother called from the front door that lunch was ready and would we please come inside and stop the bickering?
Realizing we were hungry and getting hot, we were grateful for the excuse to stop playing town. We let our bikes fall to the ground and ran to the house, mail, speeding tickets and the price of gas promptly forgotten.
