nostalgia (Cover Art Painted By Judy Gelfert)

02/15/23

Nostalgia

A short story about not wanting to grow up.

There stood Reality. Black dripping from its head and melting down to its body.

They turned their back, walking away from it. Walking in a way they did so often, so freely.

The sidewalk where bike wheels collided with uneven pavement and where soles of shoes tripped on rocks. As well as the looming oak forest that would make any young child with hyperactive imaginations uneasy.

Would something come barreling towards them? What would it be? Though young minds always make up nightmares from the show their parents never hid from them. Maybe it was to install fear of the unknown, but why worry about that? Parents only want what they think is best, and if shows about werewolves terrorizing villages, or Krampus in the middle of July right after Dora the Explorer, so be it.

Down the winding path, and through the forsaken trees, came a clearing with tall stalks of grass lining it- years of abandonment leaving it unkempt and wild. Grass and mist had a party, hanging low to the earth, clinging to its side like a bout of heat rash under your knees. Another party goer was a dew ridden cardboard box, its sides collapsing from its scraggly state.

The box held almost no interest to them. Its only purpose seemed to leave itself when it came up alone in the field.

What did hold interest however- was the edge of the path. Full of pointy pine needles and unforgiving shrubs that would bite you if you get too close. They never ever even dreamed about going past there without permission- everything seeming too foreboding without a supervisor.

Into the woods they went, shaky hands found their way into each other creating knots and bows- pretty and placid. Maybe there was a reason? There were monsters probably and they were about to be eaten. Dread set in, losing all the former coolness of "past the designated zone of permission".

They knew murky lake water was one of those reasons. Along the desired route, they had stumbled upon a lake- large in size and twice as dirty. No matter how dirty it was, their sibling couldn't resist jumping into any body of water they wanted- much to their parents' anguish.

Dabbling pale fingers into the water, grimacing at the muddy texture and then immediately rubbing it off into their soft-in comparison- jeans. Yucky mud.

Walking again, the adrenaline fading from their body as they stroll back into the road where they expected a deserted Reality to be waiting; but found nothing. Nothing but the old cars that littered the road, their old house, its garden untouched by weeds or other imperfections. Perfectly beautiful.

Just like they remembered, delighted by the idea of seeing the rooms and pantry- hoping to find the strawberry flavored milk sticks. They never worked though, the milk always tasted the same.

The door creaked on its hinges, announcing the arrival to no one, but the mess that lay ahead. The closet door hung open, displaying the torn coats and beyond that the stair carpet shredded, the fibers pointed and flying around. Yet they pushed forward, allowing themselves to see the rest of the demolished house.

The wood floors scratched, and the kitchen appliances shattered and beaten. It looked nothing like they remembered, not at all. A faint whiff of smoke caused them to leave- for fear of the house randomly exploding.

Irrational,they realized as they stared at the shell of the house, it was fine. Everything was fine.

Leaves blew through the thick air, sulfur and burnt metal stuffed their nose. It grew worse as they pranced down the road, ignorant to it. Ignoring the dread that stuffed their belly, head in the clouds- feet on the rough pavement. The only time the brain was connected to it's current reality was when they ran into a barricade. Not one they could see though.

Palming it thoroughly, they deciphered it was only a foot taller than them- and that they absolutely needed to get over it. Absolutely needing to see what was on the other side.

They glanced to their left, nothing. Then to the right, an old, sun bleached tricycle, purple and pink tinsel swayed in the wind. It was perfect, they had one much similar to it as a child, though they failed to see the structural disintegrity it held so proudly.

Wheeling it over, they giggled as the wheels screamed on old hinges, as the handles were almost sweltering in the blazing sun, but they cared not. The curiosity masked their desire to run, to get away from the wall. To stay ignorant and blissful.

Placid fingers gripped the edge of the wall, skinny arms hoisted their body up. The tricycle undutifully retching out from under their feet, leaving them dangling in the air for a moment of shock.

A blast of scorching air hit their face as they stood, fire danced over their neighborhood, the trees around and cars. They searched the flames, looking, longing for some sign of life in the hellscape.

Dancing in a blaze of terror, Reality, beckoning them forward.