Scott: Really Late

So Friday I had exactly 0 minutes and 0 seconds to write and then I was stranded in Provolone over the weekend so I haven’t had a chance to post. But I feel bad that I keep missing so here’s my really late post.

Would they remember? How could they? It was almost 15 years ago that the Dust Bomb Club adjourned their first and last meeting. How had it stuck in his nine-and-a-half-year-old mind so well? In fifteen minutes and 47 seconds it would be exactly fifteen years since that muggy summer day when the four of them hopped the fence out of embassy housing and into their chirping wood.

That summer was spent leisurely making “dust bombs” to combat an enemy that never materialized but whom it seemed it was imperative to destroy. Or at least make really dirty.  Dirt/sweat mud filled the creases of their hands.

They each knew their mutual affection would be short-lived; a fact of life for military kids.  And so they made a pact, a solemn vow that would ensure their eventual reunion.

Now a grown man, Crislen sat in his $200 dress pants on the same dirt mound that was the cause of so many spankings. So many scoldings for getting his Osh Kosh BaGosh dirty.

As the fifteen year mark came and went, Crislen realized the real reason he heeded this childhood summon. He knew all along none of the others would show up. But now he knew what they were fighting.