A Familiar Problem

The house sat halfway down a long gravel drive that led to a small machine shop. She could always hear the cars coming and came outside to meet them - the screen door slamming shut behind her. She was in her apron as usual and wiped her hands on it before hugging the visitors.

"Oh, so nice to see you," she said. "It's been so long."

They walked into the quaint house, through a screened-in back porch and up a small staircase into the kitchen. Grandpa waited inside to greet them. He was just as excited to see them as she was, but didn't want to seem that way. Hugs went all around and most of the group walked into the living room as Grandma returned to the kitchen to continue cooking.

It was the usual fare. Ham with fried okra and red beans, plus fried potatoes and cornbread. The smell filled the house and was quite intoxicating. The chocolate pie had already been made and was waiting to be devoured.

In the living room the group talked while sitting on the same familiar couches the younger ones had only ever seen. They sat around the familiar television that was rarely on and the usual questions were asked and the usual answers were given.

"So, how's school?"

"It's good."

"You making good grades?"

"Yep."

"How many girlfriends you got?"

"None right now."

"Well, I reckon you just can't pick one."

"Of course."

A comfortable quiet then took over as everyone tried to think of something to say. The father said something about the health of a relative and the young boy, his obligation to talk over with, sat back and half-listened while observing the room and thinking about how nothing in it has ever changed. The same pale yellow floral couch facing a light-brown brick fireplace. The two twin recliners to the left of the couch with white doilies placed on each arm. The dark brown wood paneling all around the room. Even the magazines in the rack next to the couch hadn't changed in twenty years. He ran his hands back and forth on the couch cushion. He liked the feel of the fabric as his hand moved against the grain.

As he sat there, the continuing chatter of the adults was just barely loud enough to be heard over the sounds from the kitchen.

Though he enjoyed being in this familiar house, hearing the familiar voices and smelling the familiar smells, where he really wanted to be was outside among the many things to discover and the many places to explore. He gave his dad his usual look and his dad gave him a knowing nod. Off he went.

Out back was the machine shop at the end of the drive. It was full of tools and things that he knew nothing about but were always fun to look at and play with. On the other corner of the yard was a cluttered garage that held a fishing boat. Beside that was a small vegetable garden that was next to the storm cellar.

But what really drew his interest that day was the neighbor's large pasture directly behind the yard. It was a faint green flatness that seemed to stretch forever. He stood there and gazed across it as the gray sky blew the wind across his face and ruffled his hair. He was filled with a sense of adventure and all that stood in his way was a rickety barbed-wire fence.

He had been past the fence before, but only a few feet to chase an errant ball. Then he'd run back as quickly as possible. He didn't know if it was from fear of an unseen bull or the fear that came from hearing stories about farmers shooting trespassers. Either way, he never really liked going into that pasture, but today was different. He was feeling adventurous. He wanted an escape from the familiar.

As he stared into the pasture, the breeze picked up and the clouds grew darker. They seemed to be rolling in on top of each other. This wasn't unusual though. It was spring in Oklahoma. If a person didn't do something because of the fear of a storm, nobody would ever do anything. So, he mustered up the courage and began to walk toward the pasture. He wasn't sure where he was going, he just knew he was going farther than he ever had before. He was going to fight the urge to run back to familiarity and he was going to keep moving toward the unknown. Today was going to be a day that would change him.

Just then he heard the screen door creak as it was opened, a voice call out, and then it sprang shut. "This was going to have to wait until after lunch," he thought. He'd probably need a full stomach anyway.

After the last bit of beans had been sopped up by the last bite of cornbread and a piece of chocolate pie had been politely turned down, he headed back outside.

The clouds hadn't really changed much. It was still a gray, overcast and dreary day. He was a little worried about what might be coming, but not enough to disrupt his plans.

He made his way past the machine shop and up to the barbed-wire fence. The posts were crooked and rotting and the wire was rusty and twisted. He looked for a place where it was loose and could climb through easily. He stepped down on the bottom wire with his foot, lifted the top wire with his hand and climbed through. He was now in the endless pasture.

"Now what?" he thought to himself. He started to walk away from the fence, passing a group of grazing cows that barely seemed to notice him. By now the wind had picked up even more and was blowing pretty hard in his face. The smell of ozone took over the air. An even more ominous cloud he hadn't seen before started racing below the others. He turned to look how far he'd gone and could no longer see the fence.

A slight sprinkle began to start. The rain created a haze in front of him and misted his face as he continued moving forward. The rain picked up and turned into fat drops that splashed all around him. His clothes were beginning to get soaked and weigh him down. The wind seemed to be pushing him back toward the house. A feeling of dread came over him and he was suddenly beginning to question his sense of adventure. He really wanted to be inside eating that piece of pie he turned down. He stopped walking and pondered what to do.

Suddenly, the rain began to pour. This was followed by a jolting crash of thunder. He decided he had enough adventure for one day and began to turn around. Just as he was lifting his foot from where it had sunk into the newly formed mud he heard a shout. "Hey you! Out there! What're you doing!?"

He could barely make out what the man said over the sound of the storm. He turned and peered through the rain. He saw a man standing next to a four-wheeler. Its headlights were illuminating the rain in front of them. It had gotten really dark. Much darker than he had noticed.

When he didn't respond the man got onto his vehicle and started driving toward him. Scared, he began to run. His feet sank down into the mud with every step and every step was more difficult than the one before. On one step his foot sunk down deep and his shoe stayed behind. He kept running. Now with a shoeless limp - slipping and sliding and having to regain his balance with each step. He knew he couldn't out run the four wheeler and he couldn't see the fence either. He didn't know where he was going. The rain was blinding now and the thunder was crashing all around.

"Hey! Stop!"

This time he heard it loud and clear. He turned and saw the four-wheeler right behind him. He had lost. He knew it. He stopped running and stood motionless. Soaked and out of breath and missing one shoe. The rain continued to pelt his wet hair and drench his already saturated clothes. It splashed in puddles all around him.

The four-wheeler slowed to a stop beside him. He imagined all the terrible things that were going to happen. He had always heard stories and they always involved guns. All he wanted was an adventure. Something to break out of the familiar that he knew so well. And now, here he was in the rain, sinking down in the mud, soaked to the bone, and shivering from a combination of fear and cold, waiting for the worst to happen.

"What're you doing out here?" the man shouted.

"I don't know," is all he could respond with.

"Where'd you come from?"

"From my grandpa's house. I climbed through the fence. I don't even know which direction it is now."

"Well, you shouldn't really trespass on other people's property," he shouted through the rain.

"I know. I just want to get back. What're you going to do to me?"

His head was down and the rain was running through his hair and puddling in front of him. All the terrible possibilities ran through his head. The fear instilled in him from the wild stories he had heard consumed him. He looked up at the man and the water ran down his face across his nose and mouth. The man could see the fear in his eyes.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Well, you're going to shoot me, aren't you?"

"No. Climb on back," he said sternly.

Reluctantly and with no other options, he did so. He was soaked and tired and scared and ready to be inside.

"What's your grandpa's name?" the man asked.

"Montgomery."

"Oh, he lives just over there."

The man pointed and started the four-wheeler in that direction. The headlights lit the way as they rode silently through the darkness of the rain and only the sound of the engine and an occasional rumble of thunder in the distance were heard. They made it to the fence and the boy climbed off the back. He said thanks and began to step down on the bottom wire.

"Wait," the man said. "Your shoe."

The boy walked back and got his shoe. The rain had let up quite a bit by then. The man, still sitting on the running four-wheeler, smiled at him and said, "Next time you want some adventure, just let me know. I'm Mr. Wheeler. I've got two sons of my own and they're always looking for stuff to get into."

"Thank you, sir," he said and took his shoe and walked back to the fence.
He glanced back one more time as the man drove off.

By this time the storm had passed as quickly as it had come and the sun began to peek through. After the sound of the engine faded away a calm silent took over. A blue part of the sky opened up over the house and he limped towards it, shoe in hand, muddy and soaked, but being warmed by the sun.

As he made his way back he saw his family waiting for him. The familiar was all he wanted now.

Omnipresent Miracles

Every thought you have is a miracle. Every time your heart beats and sends life rushing through your veins it's a miracle. Every blade of grass that rises through the soil longing for sunlight is a miracle. When you look in the mirror you're looking at a miracle. They are all around and inescapable. The fact that you're reading this is one. Everything is. So enjoy it. Enjoy knowing that all you see goes against chance.