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It was a nippy, but peaceful Friday afternoon as Otis and I walked outside. He ran off immediately, seeking out whatever smells he could find. I opened my coat, pulled out a mild vanilla cigar, and lit it.

Many yards away my old house stood. I zipped my coat back up and walked towards the gate. Careful to watch my step, I journeyed over the moist grass and dirt to reach the gate. “Lets go over there Otis.” Otis came trotting over to the gate, his collar jingling merrily like a seasonal bell ringer.

I opened the gate.

Otis rushed inside while I walked cautiously back into the life I once knew. The yard, like my life, had nearly been destroyed in less then a year. The ground squished under my feet as I approached the fire pit. The pit itself had tall, six-foot weeds growing, despite the winter weather. I flicked some ash into the pit.

Two wooden benches that were once a brilliant red color were now falling apart. The legs on one had completely snapped and it sat sadly on the cold patio ground. The other, still standing, was weak and covered in a greenish mossy substance. I kicked it lightly in frustration only to find it crumble under my attack. I puffed on my cigar and pondered its weakness.

The walkways were nearly impassable, guarded by large tree weeds, branches, and other various materials. I hopped the wooden barrier and circled around using the yard. I walked through the dead bushes and onto the dirt-caked patio. After a long inhale and exhale, I attempted to open the door to the house, apparently still locked.

Thinking over everything, I examined the outside of the house. The paint was still relatively fresh, but obviously done by novices. Some small areas still begged to be covered. Taking my cigar out of my mouth and into my hand I went over to the old John Deere riding lawn mower. All of its wheels were now deflated, and, being stationary so long, it had a perfect mud ring around it. The top was dry so I sat down before smoking again.

The deck was in sorry shape. Warping wood and lacking paint, I almost feared for its life. I breathed deeply on the cigar. As I exhaled I smiled as the smoke combined with my visible breath in the air.

I stood up, walking closer to the larger section of the patio. I passed the portion that used to be a pond but was now a flowerbed. It too was dying. Dogs had torn the fabric that kept out the weeds, and the mulch was almost non-existent. The plants struggled to live. As I neared the larger portion I stood next to many tall tree-type weeds. They stood several feet above, quite possibly eight feet or more.

All of the furniture was overturned or haphazardly spread among the large portion of the patio. One of the black wire lawn chairs was missing its wheel, which lay a few feet away. A similar black wire table sat upside down on the chair. Random bits of broken wood lining lay scattered. I circled around the objects, taking in the sight. I drew from the cigar again.

Foreign plants were overrunning every bush lining the patio. There was nothing they could do, though they kept living despite their nasty fate. I marveled for a moment, thinking in a small cloud of smoke. I went back, going through a walkway barricaded by plants. They reached for my coat and pants, and had I not been fully covered I expect it would have been painful. I flicked more ash into the fire pit before I went out into the yard.

The yard itself was in decent shape since I filled many of its larger holes with dirt. Otis’ collar sang as he ran around in his temporary domain. I walked over to the fence line where the other small gate happened to lie amidst the mud. A large tree limb hung almost midair on the walking path. I stepped on its middle portion and it easily broke into three segments. I smoked the cigar.

My cigar was nearing its end, so I traveled indirectly back towards the fire pit. I climbed the wooden structures of the deck, now disgusting and worn. It was simply incredible how easily it all gets out of control. I flicked more ash into the pit once I arrived. After several small puffs I took a long final smoke on the cigar before I put it out and abandoned it into the fire pit.

I walked back towards the gate to the other yard. “Lets go Otis.” He ran over smiling. He walked through the gate and I pulled it in behind me. I took one last look at the house and yard I once knew so well. It was foreign now. It was no longer my house, or my yard.

I shut the gate on a life that was and will never be again.

My mind wandered to memories
Of recent walks and discussions.
Some humorous… (an illusion lumberjack mech suit tree pop machine is me!)
Some serious… (what will happen now?)
Some interesting and fun… (“I really like that house!”)

I toiled in my mind for three miles,
Walking through the mist of sprinklers.
Finally my mind was clear like the night sky.
Feelings have, at last, been shoved aside,
Taking a back seat to life.

It was beautiful night.

After the free write, we seperated it and used words we wrote to make up some poem. Since this was a free write, no ones poem rhymed, and it was basically all free verse. I was one of six people to get more than a page for both the poem and free write (in reality, I got three for the poem, the free write is up in the air (my computer at school sucks!)).

The topic I picked was “I remember”. I use the phrase a few times in the poem, and it appears in the title itself. Overall, I made very very few changes to my words, just like Mr. Wilkinson said. I cut out a few irrelevant sentences and bam, there, with formatting, punctuaion and various breaks, was a free verse poem I never could have written any other way. Quite amazing.

You may or may not like it, but I found it to be an eye opener for myself. It raises some good questions, and every word on the page flowed from my thoughts over the period of eight minutes. Crazy.

The poem can be found here: http://www.nick-cash.com/wp/2005/11/14/i-remember-long-ago/

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I had written yet another story for another scenario. This was sure to get me another five! What a way to make crossing a river exciting. I did happen to have a feeling that, in actuality, my “family” would not be so fortunate.

This class project was not so exciting. Our whole class was taking part in a charting game. We used trivia, writings, and other means to establish points for our wagon’s, which then affected how everything went.

As it turns out, I was unlucky. I got high marks, but the random aspect of things killed my possibility to succeed in this game. Pulling diseases out of a hat at random so they inflict your wagon hardly seems fair.

I actually found myself grateful for having my entire wagon die. The father on Mike’s wagon had diarrhea that never went away, which counted against his score each day. Then there was Andy who had exclaimed, “Why doesn’t my family get a disease? I want one too!” The ignorance of a fifth grader is astounding but fitting. He had no idea what a disease was.

“Wagon team one, you failed to cross the river. This time we’ll shoot baskets to see what happens. Nick, you go first,” my fifth teacher said.

“Alright…” I replied, taking my position marked by the tape on the floor closest to the wastebasket. Why did my fake wagon family’s fate rely on my ability to shoot a paper ball into the wastebasket?

She tossed me the ball, but stopped me before I could toss it. “Wait, you only have three family members?” she asked.

“Yes. The father and son died of disease yesterday, remember?”

“Well, you have to move back ten feet then, since your family is undermined.”

“Ok….”

I took a few steps back, now at the middle piece of tape. Any more and I’d be about half a classroom’s length away from this basket. I don’t think this is ten feet. I got ready to throw the paper ball just as she stopped me again.

“Wait, you only had one ox?” she asked, looking over her notes again.

“Yeah, my other three were stolen by thieves on Wednesday, remember?” I replied. I started moving back some more, heading towards the last piece of tape.

“Well, you, oh, yeah, last piece of tape. Alright, lets go!” she said looking up.

I took up my position. The basket sure was a small target now that I was a great many feet away. The rest of my classmates looked on, hoping I would make it. It was a team effort after all.

My “family” had already died twice before, as I seemed to by a magnet for thieves, disease, spoiling food, and other bad disasters. I swear the real people on the Oregon Trail did not have this many problems. I threw the ball and hit bounced off the rim off the basket. I missed.

“Ok, lets see….” my teacher muttered, consulting some form of chart, graph, or table. She continued, “Uh, Nick, the remaining two people in your family are swept down stream and are unable to be saved.”

I moved out of the way, unaffected by the answer. Not like this was new. However, it might be a new record, as my entire family had bit the dust twice in one week. Of course, so I won’t be left out, the wagon teams will find a lone wagon with my new family inside it tomorrow.

Sitting quietly at my desk, which was pushed to the side of the room to allow for kids to throw the ball, I watched the rest of my wagon team shoot, several missing. Some lost whole wagons; some members of their family, and some lost nothing.

I was the only one to flat out die… again. That makes three. How unlucky can one person be?