To Hide and Seek

Best in the dark. July. After dinner. At Nora’s house.

 

She leans against the mulberry tree and covers her eyes with her arms, counts to 10. We scatter into the darkest parts of the yard: one underneath a bush, the other tucked beside the house, a third behind the car they never drive.

We have rules about how far away we can hide and it still be fair. The front yard of the next door neighbor is allowed. But not across the street. And I’m torn. 

Not because I want to hide far away, but because I want to go far away. I speed out into the night and cross into the next yard and think how close I am to being out of bounds. Three more steps.

I could really hide. I could run away. I would feel terrible, of course. I know they would miss me. I don’t feel unloved.

But in the dark, in the heat, I feel a pull. Something on the border of chaos that exists just one more yard away. And then another and another and another.

I don’t know what I want to be free of or from, but I know when I think about it, I’m not as scared as I could be, as I should be.

The night darkens as I step farther and farther away from the lights coming from the house, away from the front porch light. I hear them behind me, screeching every time someone is found.

She picks them off, one by one. Found you. Found you. Found you.