The Quarry

I remember one time my buddies and I went down to the quarry and started picking up stones and skipping them across the water.  It was fun.  We saw who could skip the most times.  At first we’d pick up any stone but got choosier—round flat stones.  After a bit, my buddies got tired and went home.  It was getting near dinnertime.  I couldn’t stop.  I kept walking along, the sun was setting, looking for the perfect stone.  It must have been over an hour.  The sun was casting long shadows from the trees across the water.  I’d pick up each stone, turn it over in my hand—you know feeling the heft of it.

Then, I was like, ‘Holyshit.  My old man is gonna kill me.’  It’s way past dinnertime.  I took one small gray rounded stone and tossed it across the water one last time and watched it skip towards the sun.  It was late July in Ohio.  I could feel the setting sun hot on my face, sinking into my pores.  I closed my eyes and for a moment I could feel the earth spin. It changed me somehow.  I opened my eyes but the sun was burning through my body and I couldn’t catch my balance.   I kept thinking, ‘Jesus, my old man is gonna kill me.  Jesus Christ.’

I ran as fast as I could.  I left my bike at the quarry.  I got to my house out of breath and swung open the front door. Nobody was home.