Digging up bones


The lazy, hazy, sultry days of summer have descended upon us like a thick blanket we can’t escape.  For me, that means taking a trip down memory lane to a simpler time – time before central air, cable TV and Crystal Light.


Suddenly it’s 1953 again and we running barefooted through the neighbor’s yards.  Ugh.  Stickers.

Nothing worse than getting stuck in a patch of stickers, destined to stay there until someone can bring you your saddle oxfords.  (Do lawns still contain stickers? And do they still make saddle oxfords?)

My memory settles on one summer day when Linda Murrah and I decided to open a lemonade stand.  We mixed up a batch and dragged a card table out to the street.  Our home-made sign said “Nikle Lemanade.”  Heard Murphy and Richey Teasley were playing down at the ditch – getting hot and sweaty and we knew it was a matter of moments before they’d come purchase a cup of our brew.

I think it was Linda’s idea but I ran into the house and retreived a bottle of Lux Liquid and we “doctored” the lemonade.  I don’t know why the boys didn’t question the head of bubbles on the stuff, but Heard plunked down a nickel and chug-a-lugged an entire cup.  He began choking and ran away while we giggled uncontrollably.

Later in the day Richey came back and told us Heard had died. Oh my gosh!  We had killed him.  We had committed MURDER.  My six year old mind envisioned myself as the only pint-sized inmate on death row.  For two days, Linda and I waited for the police to come get us.

On the third day, we spotted Heard and Richey playing at the ditch again.  What was this? Had Heard returned from the dead?  Or had Richey lied?

It was all very confusing, but we never did set up another lemonade stand.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *