Under the rotten, soggy and green wooden plank laid a dirty key. The key I knew well. It was like an old friend I hadn't seen in ages. I rubbed its muddy surface between my fingers and little balls of rich dirt fell to the ground. The feel of the cold metal from the key and the thick fog that hung in the air made me hungry and even more excited. I looked off in the distance wide eyed, trying to focus in on the old house that the key belonged to. The organic smell of forgotten land hauntingly made its way to my nose and I shut my eyes for a moment remembering the last time I was here. I was sad for a fleeting second but then curiosity and the quest for understanding took me over. There was no turning back...
20 years ago: A young Indian (Native American) girl was running through a large corn feild when I arrived at my new foster home. Her hair was long, dark and wild. She looked about 10 years old. I didn't see the little boy at first but he was trailing behind her whining that she was going too fast. She stopped short and hugged a giant corn stalk with her right arm as if it were her best friend’s shoulders. She starred at me with her dirty face; her chest heaving and her mouth open a little, trying to catch her breath. The little boy, who I figured was her brother, stood behind her and tugged at her faded and stained tweety bird t-shirt.
20 years ago: A young Indian (Native American) girl was running through a large corn feild when I arrived at my new foster home. Her hair was long, dark and wild. She looked about 10 years old. I didn't see the little boy at first but he was trailing behind her whining that she was going too fast. She stopped short and hugged a giant corn stalk with her right arm as if it were her best friend’s shoulders. She starred at me with her dirty face; her chest heaving and her mouth open a little, trying to catch her breath. The little boy, who I figured was her brother, stood behind her and tugged at her faded and stained tweety bird t-shirt.
I turned and looked out the opposite window in the back seat of my counselors Chevy Cavelier. As the right side of the car faced the corn field and the house, the left side faced a large empty meadow with an old rusty swing set in the center. At the far edge of the meadow was a row of huge willow trees standing somberly at guard. It was a hazy, warm and silent day. The clouds hung so low in the sky that they seemed to muffle all of the daily sounds of the world. A crow cawed from somewhere in the distance and I noticed the screen door to the house open up to welcome my counselor. The house was plain. It was a faded white farmhouse that faced out towards the open meadow.
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