The Sunny Spot
(For Annie: Thanks for giving a name to this place.)
There is a spot on The Hill that holds many secrets. Girl secrets about crushes and first kisses and boy secrets probably about the same things. Promises made and promises broken. Wins and losses, shattered hearts and grieving thoughts. We carried these things with us and tried to leave them behind in The Sunny Spot.
It was in with the lined-up pine trees, on the side of The Hill that belonged to the Air Force Base. We weren't really supposed to be there. I think if our moms and dads could have seen it, they wouldn't have forbidden it anymore. One just stepped through the opening in the old chain fence and the chaos of the forest was left behind. We were no longer walking on dirt or grass. Under our sneakered feet was a mattress of pine needles, muffling every step. It was not possible to see where the field of trees stopped and the wildness of natural forest began again. The branches of the pine trees didn't grow near the ground, rather they started way up above our heads. All around were naked pine tree trunks, lines and lines of them. In perfect shade, we never had to squint or shield our eyes from the summer's hot glare. To our right, facing the golf course was a small clearing and a large rock. It was there, on that rock, where we would sit for hours. Overlooking a large drop off, two kids could easily sit next to each other on the warm rock, four feet dangling over its side.
It was quiet here, a good distance away from our homes. You couldn't see our yards or our street or cars or bikes. You couldn't hear your parents call and you could easily block out what was happening inside the walls of those houses.
It wasn't perfect. Our childhood that is. More to the contrary, our growing up was hard and we faced things most kids probably didn't have to. Three families and we each had our tragedies. Most of the time going to the Sunny Spot wasn't about fun. It wasn't a hide and seek place. It was a haven. Some folks go to church or a bar or even a cemetery for a moment of reckoning. A solace seeking child from our neighborhood usually ended up here. Under the pine trees, watching the sun go down and feeling its warmth beneath us as we sorted out what we needed to. Sometimes we had a friend there with us and sometimes we sat alone. If you ran away from home, you usually would go here. Our parents never saw this place. It was ours and we never really named it out loud. It wasn't like Manmade Pond or the Grandfather Tree. It wasn't the Ninth Hole bench or the Swamp. But when one of us went missing, we knew where to look. And usually just one would go and get our missing friend. Never really had to say too much, but just sharing the rock and the moment was enough. A quick face swipe with the bottom of your shirt was a signal that the spot had worked its magic once again. Strength tentatively restored, we would walk back towards home. Often times that meant leaving the peace and the quiet behind to face the uncontrollable truths that lie behind each of our doors. Kitchens where our mothers sat and sipped coffee together. Looking for their own peace and finding strength in each other's presence. There are sunny spots for everyone I guess. Ours just came with the most spectacular view of the sunset I've seen. Pine trees reaching toward the heavens, bearing witness to our thoughts, our dreams and our sorrows. And for our mothers, quietly stirring milk and sugar into their hot cups of coffee, kitchen tables with gently resting elbows bore witness to the decisions that had given cause to our adventure to begin with.
There is a spot on The Hill that holds many secrets. Girl secrets about crushes and first kisses and boy secrets probably about the same things. Promises made and promises broken. Wins and losses, shattered hearts and grieving thoughts. We carried these things with us and tried to leave them behind in The Sunny Spot.
It was in with the lined-up pine trees, on the side of The Hill that belonged to the Air Force Base. We weren't really supposed to be there. I think if our moms and dads could have seen it, they wouldn't have forbidden it anymore. One just stepped through the opening in the old chain fence and the chaos of the forest was left behind. We were no longer walking on dirt or grass. Under our sneakered feet was a mattress of pine needles, muffling every step. It was not possible to see where the field of trees stopped and the wildness of natural forest began again. The branches of the pine trees didn't grow near the ground, rather they started way up above our heads. All around were naked pine tree trunks, lines and lines of them. In perfect shade, we never had to squint or shield our eyes from the summer's hot glare. To our right, facing the golf course was a small clearing and a large rock. It was there, on that rock, where we would sit for hours. Overlooking a large drop off, two kids could easily sit next to each other on the warm rock, four feet dangling over its side.
It was quiet here, a good distance away from our homes. You couldn't see our yards or our street or cars or bikes. You couldn't hear your parents call and you could easily block out what was happening inside the walls of those houses.
It wasn't perfect. Our childhood that is. More to the contrary, our growing up was hard and we faced things most kids probably didn't have to. Three families and we each had our tragedies. Most of the time going to the Sunny Spot wasn't about fun. It wasn't a hide and seek place. It was a haven. Some folks go to church or a bar or even a cemetery for a moment of reckoning. A solace seeking child from our neighborhood usually ended up here. Under the pine trees, watching the sun go down and feeling its warmth beneath us as we sorted out what we needed to. Sometimes we had a friend there with us and sometimes we sat alone. If you ran away from home, you usually would go here. Our parents never saw this place. It was ours and we never really named it out loud. It wasn't like Manmade Pond or the Grandfather Tree. It wasn't the Ninth Hole bench or the Swamp. But when one of us went missing, we knew where to look. And usually just one would go and get our missing friend. Never really had to say too much, but just sharing the rock and the moment was enough. A quick face swipe with the bottom of your shirt was a signal that the spot had worked its magic once again. Strength tentatively restored, we would walk back towards home. Often times that meant leaving the peace and the quiet behind to face the uncontrollable truths that lie behind each of our doors. Kitchens where our mothers sat and sipped coffee together. Looking for their own peace and finding strength in each other's presence. There are sunny spots for everyone I guess. Ours just came with the most spectacular view of the sunset I've seen. Pine trees reaching toward the heavens, bearing witness to our thoughts, our dreams and our sorrows. And for our mothers, quietly stirring milk and sugar into their hot cups of coffee, kitchen tables with gently resting elbows bore witness to the decisions that had given cause to our adventure to begin with.
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