On places promised in our youth
On a frigid Saturday afternoon in November with some time to kill, I walked out of my front door into the glimmering sun, shining on my glasses. Myself and two close friends, Montez and Brian, decided to go to Naylors Run park while we waited for more friends to be ready for the night ahead. Making our way down the street to the entrance of the park, we reminisce on our past and the fun we had in Naylors, drinking Olde English and rolling up almost every day in high school. We hadn't been there in a while, since we now have cars and jobs and other responsibilities now, so it seemed like a good place to spend some free time. With the leaves rustling beneath our feet we spoke of memories lost and times spent together, solidifying a friendship that still holds true to this day. After the short jaunt we approach the entrance to the green grassy field, littered with dead leaves and broken branches, a place as familiar to us as the back of our hands. With a fresh blunt rolled up in our pockets, we began our descent down into the park as we had so many times before, although this time it felt like an eerie reflection of something that once was.
Approaching the middle of the field we find an unusual sight, the remnants of a broken down makeshift shack that was never there before. “Someone wuz probably living in here for a while,” Montez inquired as he walked over the ruins, “before some kids knocked it down or something.” “Yeah, if I was homeless I'd live in Naylors man.”, I said back. We shared a laugh, and picked up some old bamboo sticks lying close on the ground and started having a fight with them and chucking them into the brush, reminiscent of times we had there only a few years back. Afterwards, we continued our journey through the field, reaching the creek at the end, a place we've crossed to many times to count, most of us slipping in drunk half the time we did. Montez and I decided on crossing the quick way, that required a long jump to the opposite bank. We did so with ease and waited for Brian to do the same, but he opted for a different path. This path had more rocks and seemed safer, but funnily enough, he still managed to slip and drench his foot into the icy cold creek water. Now, with his face brandished into a scowl, he crossed the creek where me and Montez were laughing and jeering, as any good friend should. “Shut up, you guys are douches.” Brian said with in a wry tone. We continued on, into a dead field of bamboo leading up to the spot we would stop to smoke.
The place at the end of the dead bamboo field was an isolated spot called The Ledge. It was called The Ledge because, well, it was a ledge. Overlooking the creek, it is an old abandoned part of a train track that used to be there. There were two metal beams that hung off over the water where we would often tote a case of beer to and spend summer nights drinking and talking about things teenagers talk about. As with the field, The Ledge had become an eerie reflection of what once was. The normal foliage had been killed off as winter approached, leaving inert leaves and dry sticks in its wake. With the lack of plant life consuming the woods, we noticed something off in the distance. Beneath a layer of dead vines, a large concrete slab rises out of the lifeless leaves and dying plants further along the path, so we decided upon heading up onto it instead of our usual haunt.
Trekking through more of the bamboo we came to the large concrete brick rising up despite the coming winter. We climbed on top and gazed off over our journey looking into the field of green grass, the rushing creek, The Ledge, and the deadened bamboo field before us. “Alright, lets smoke we don't have all day.” Montez said, knocking me out of a trance as I looked out upon our world. He pulled a blunt out of the tinfoil Grape Game package and sparked a lighter rhythmically in the cold air. As we smoked together I realized this may be the last time I'll be at this spot, now that we are older and racked with responsibility. In my high school career I wondered where I'll be when college finally arrives, and after I've moved on from the past perpetuation of my time in these woods. As the inhale burns away at the blunt, and the exhale releases a billow of smoke into the air, heading in a thousand different directions, so too will I continue to move on and garner new experiences in college. My future is ahead of me, and my past will burn away as the Green Game does, and out of it will come a billow of new realities for me to flourish in. My first semester of college is closing, and I welcome the change towards a new chapter in my life.
“Come on Ben, let's go.” My friends say to me as I stand on the concrete slab.
“I'm coming, I'm coming”
As we leave the woods though the bright grassy field, my mind drifts away from the conversations of my friends and an epiphany comes to light.
When I leave these woods, I’ll be leaving behind a stagnant forest of something that once was. As it continues to grow and flourish without me, as will I without it. It is time for me to forsake the days of old and come into a place we promise ourselves in our youth. The forefront of my life lies ahead of me. As I step over this allegorical creek onto the other side of my life, I will walk this path and rise up from cadaverous vines restricting me with a new outlook on life, ready to adapt to the changing seasons that the loom over the horizon.
With the forest behind me, my friends and I leave the woods behind us, ready to face the new world we have shaped for ourselves.
Approaching the middle of the field we find an unusual sight, the remnants of a broken down makeshift shack that was never there before. “Someone wuz probably living in here for a while,” Montez inquired as he walked over the ruins, “before some kids knocked it down or something.” “Yeah, if I was homeless I'd live in Naylors man.”, I said back. We shared a laugh, and picked up some old bamboo sticks lying close on the ground and started having a fight with them and chucking them into the brush, reminiscent of times we had there only a few years back. Afterwards, we continued our journey through the field, reaching the creek at the end, a place we've crossed to many times to count, most of us slipping in drunk half the time we did. Montez and I decided on crossing the quick way, that required a long jump to the opposite bank. We did so with ease and waited for Brian to do the same, but he opted for a different path. This path had more rocks and seemed safer, but funnily enough, he still managed to slip and drench his foot into the icy cold creek water. Now, with his face brandished into a scowl, he crossed the creek where me and Montez were laughing and jeering, as any good friend should. “Shut up, you guys are douches.” Brian said with in a wry tone. We continued on, into a dead field of bamboo leading up to the spot we would stop to smoke.
The place at the end of the dead bamboo field was an isolated spot called The Ledge. It was called The Ledge because, well, it was a ledge. Overlooking the creek, it is an old abandoned part of a train track that used to be there. There were two metal beams that hung off over the water where we would often tote a case of beer to and spend summer nights drinking and talking about things teenagers talk about. As with the field, The Ledge had become an eerie reflection of what once was. The normal foliage had been killed off as winter approached, leaving inert leaves and dry sticks in its wake. With the lack of plant life consuming the woods, we noticed something off in the distance. Beneath a layer of dead vines, a large concrete slab rises out of the lifeless leaves and dying plants further along the path, so we decided upon heading up onto it instead of our usual haunt.
Trekking through more of the bamboo we came to the large concrete brick rising up despite the coming winter. We climbed on top and gazed off over our journey looking into the field of green grass, the rushing creek, The Ledge, and the deadened bamboo field before us. “Alright, lets smoke we don't have all day.” Montez said, knocking me out of a trance as I looked out upon our world. He pulled a blunt out of the tinfoil Grape Game package and sparked a lighter rhythmically in the cold air. As we smoked together I realized this may be the last time I'll be at this spot, now that we are older and racked with responsibility. In my high school career I wondered where I'll be when college finally arrives, and after I've moved on from the past perpetuation of my time in these woods. As the inhale burns away at the blunt, and the exhale releases a billow of smoke into the air, heading in a thousand different directions, so too will I continue to move on and garner new experiences in college. My future is ahead of me, and my past will burn away as the Green Game does, and out of it will come a billow of new realities for me to flourish in. My first semester of college is closing, and I welcome the change towards a new chapter in my life.
“Come on Ben, let's go.” My friends say to me as I stand on the concrete slab.
“I'm coming, I'm coming”
As we leave the woods though the bright grassy field, my mind drifts away from the conversations of my friends and an epiphany comes to light.
When I leave these woods, I’ll be leaving behind a stagnant forest of something that once was. As it continues to grow and flourish without me, as will I without it. It is time for me to forsake the days of old and come into a place we promise ourselves in our youth. The forefront of my life lies ahead of me. As I step over this allegorical creek onto the other side of my life, I will walk this path and rise up from cadaverous vines restricting me with a new outlook on life, ready to adapt to the changing seasons that the loom over the horizon.
With the forest behind me, my friends and I leave the woods behind us, ready to face the new world we have shaped for ourselves.