Childhood Memory of Lost Time

 

A time in my old neighborhood during the change of the season from spring to summer.

So many years ago, I recalled riding my bike through the fog, closing my eyes, then stopping abruptly because it was too quiet and still. As ten-year-old boys' do, being alone in the dark and fog, mainly when there is no one around, can be terrifying.

On the curb next to my bike, I sat quietly, listening to the sounds of, well, nothing, total silence. The fog turned to a thick, white wall on the curb, and seeing two feet in front of you was impossible.

The thunder and lightning began their diatribe. Finally, I was lost in a cloud.

Panic set in as my orientation was lost... was I to go right or left?

It began to rain, then rain harder as the raindrops hurt my face, so rather than sit there like a scared rabbit, I rode in a direction that I hoped would lead home.

The rain was unrelenting. 

In the distance, I saw multi-colored lights, thus headed in that direction.

I skidded to a stop in front of the house (though never seen this house before) and decided to knock on the door and get some directions. The door was surrounded with lights like it was Christmas, and easy to see through the rain and fog. I rang the doorbell and waited, wet, cold, and shivering.

The door opened, and there stood a strange old lady. Her hair was pure white, swept back in a long ponytail. She looked like a gypsy, with too many earrings and bracelets, too much make-up, and her dressing gown one would associate with hippies. (Of the eastern variety).

Walking into her house, I detected the scent of violets and sandalwood incense...candles sat on every shelf, all lit, burning bright, though the best memory is the room's warmth...I felt safe.

"Sit here, little one." She wrapped a blanket around me.

"What is your name and phone number, so I can call your Mother to come for you?"

I gave her my name and phone number, and she disappeared into another room.

While she was away, an old cat sat on top of an old, overly stuffed chair, yawned, stretched, and meowed at me. Then, the old cat sauntered over and merely sat and continued to stare into my eyes.

"Go away, cat!" I said.

The old woman then entered the room again with a surprised expression.

"I spoke with your mother...how long have you been away from home?"

Strange question, I thought.

"No more than a couple of hours."

She laughed and suddenly turned serious.

"According to your mother, you have been missing for three days, and the police have been looking for you, too."

"Crap, I just got lost in the fog and found this place!"

Then she asked, "Do you know where you are?"

"Yea, Northglenn, where I live..."

She smiled and said,

"Well, little one, you are in Pueblo, over one hundred miles from where you live."

"That can't be right. I've been riding my bike for only a few hours..."

Drinking sweet tea and wrapped in a smelly blanket, my father arrived.

He placed my bike in his trunk and said nothing during the trip home.

Now the rain had stopped (there was no fog), and the evening's last glimmer of light floated in the distance through the windshield of my father's car.

Once home, strangely, my mother did not yell or anything, but put me in the shower, fed me warm chili, and duly sent me to bed.

Over all these years, nothing has been mentioned about this incident again...

Though even today, this experience continues to confound and disturb.