It was the third time she had moved in the last five years. She asked if I wanted to go her house the next day, Saturday, just to hang out and have me tell her all about our neighbourhood. Around nine the next morning I knocked on her door, which was opened by the man I had seen with Jan at school.“Hi, I’m Jon, Jan’s Dad. You, must be Mark. She’s in her room, go on up,” he said.As I climbed the stairs I could hear music playing and followed the sound to Jan’s room.“Come in and close the door,” she called over her shoulder from desk.“Great room,” I exclaimed as I took in the feminine décor. The room was all pinks and whites, frilly curtains and matching bed linen. I closed the door as instructed. The room was quite bright with the morning sun streaming in the windows.Jan got up from her desk and sat on the side of the bed. “Come, sit beside me so we can talk,” she instructed. I did as she asked but I was feeling a little apprehensive about being there. In the dark ages of the fifties. His mind cast around quickly, looking for an excuse. She wouldn’t believe he had gotten that dirty without getting into some mischief. Suddenly he knew what to do! He ran toward the steep hill heading toward Mr. Landers house, the hill that had been half torn up by a recent storm. With no regard for his own safety, he flung himself down the hill. On the way down he crashed through a few bushes, hit his shin on a big rock and got, if it was possibly, even more filthy. For a moment he paused to examine his camouflage. His legs and arms were magnificently scrapped, but even better was his bloody right knee and his right hand, which had managed to pick up four or five thorns. Grinning from ear to ear, he trudged back around the hill and toward the house. On the way he realized that he seemed too happy. He started to work on managing some tears and held his breath to make his face look redder. She would never even guess what really happened. He had decided to start the hole will flipping.
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