Creative fun in
the palm of your hand.
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Rated: E · Fiction · Children's · #1926171
This my entry for the writer's cramp contest due March 29,2013.
“Tell us a story Grandpa.” I asked, as the spokesman for all four of us grandchildren. We were gathered around him eagerly waiting. Grandpa had never told a story that failed to amuse us and most of his stories were about his unruly childhood escapades.

“Today, since it’s Grandma and I’s anniversary, I’m going to tell you about when your grandmother and I met. It was fifty-seven years ago, when we first met. Both of us were eleven years old, and your grandma was just as wild as I was. She had just moved onto the old Dixon farm, about a mile up the road from me. I hiked up the road to her house and hid behind a tall tree, waiting to see the girl that I had been told was my new neighbor. I was not disappointed. Her hair was as red as the flames of our fire. I had never seen anything like it. I was even more surprised when she hung a white dress on the clothes line. Who in their right mind would wear a white dress way out here?”

“Hey Mom, can I go exploring?” The girl asked.

“If you have all the clothes hung.”

“I do.”

“Okay, but be back by dinner time.”

“I will.” She replied, taking off like a rocket, like maybe she was afraid if she didn’t move fast her mom might change her mind. I took off right behind her, but after she was out of sight she slowed down to a walk.

After a few minutes I decided it was time to meet her. “Hey! Hold up.” I called. She turned around and looked at me. I could tell she was studying me, but that’s okay. I was studying her too. She was dressed up like a regular farmer, bib overalls and all.

“Who are you and where did you come from?” She asked.

“My name is James and I live down the road a piece.” I replied agreeably. “Who are you and where did you come from?” I queried in return.

“Name’s Jayne and I came from the house on the old Dixon place. We just moved here from Idaho. So what do you do for fun around here?”

“All kinds of things. Stuff you wouldn’t be interested in.”

“Oh yeah. And why wouldn’t I?” She challenged.

“You’d get dirty.” I smirked. “Girls don’t like mud and slippery slimy critters.”

“Who says? I love messing around in water and mud and I like frogs and salamanders and such.”

“Well, you might get hurt climbing a tree, or might slip and fall into the creek. And I’m building a dam with really heavy rocks. You wouldn’t even be able to pick them up.” I scoffed.

She narrowed her eyes at me and sneered. “I bet I can, and I can beat you up, too.”

I laughed. “Prove it.”

“Okay but you’re the one that might get hurt.” She warned me.

We both put up our arms in a boxer’s stance and danced around, each of us waiting for the other to make the first move.

“Come on.” I finally said. “Girls get the first shot. I don’t want anyone to be able to say that I started a fight with a girl.”

She grinned and threw a punch. I dodged and immediately threw a punch back. “We must have fought about thirty minutes before we called a truce. Neither one of us could get the best of the other. Course we didn’t come out of it without battle scars.  I had bruises and a bloody nose while she had bruises and a split lip. I held out my hand and said “friends?”

“Agreed,” she said reaching out to shake hands.

“So why did you hang out a white dress?”  I asked after a few minutes.

“That’s my family’s wedding dress. My sister just got married last week and we always wash out the dress then put it away for the next bride.”

From then on we were best of friends and the two of us were always getting into one scrape or another. Seven years later we got married and she wore that same white dress. And now, we’re still best friends, and are celebrating our 50th wedding anniversary.

© Copyright 2013 Cherokee Rose (foreverdixie at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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