Purrsonal Story: How my childhood was like Stephen King's IT

 

It's a strange title for a blog post, isn't it? But my childhood was like Stephen King's It in two ways: the Barrens and the sewers.

Of course, we didn't call it the Barrens. To us, it was the Jungle. The untamed wooded area was located perpendicular from our street. Beside it, apartment buildings loomed. We kids weren't allowed to cross that road, since it was a busier than our own, but we found a way without disobeying. You see, there was a sewer drain from one person's yard and it led into the Jungle. We crawled on hands and knees through it, and we were on the other side. We were explorers of around six or seven years of age trailing through the forest, getting stuck in thorn bushes. We had a blast.

Then, there were the sewers. They weren't nearly as fun as the Jungle. They smelled. They were dark. And worst of all, there were spiders. *cringes* When I was five, some older boys tossed me into the sewers. I begged them to let me out, even though I really did try to be brave for a whole two seconds. I couldn't stand the dark. Or spiders. One time a neighbor lost their pet rabbit in the sewers. We went looking for it on the other end, where it opened up above ground. That wasn't as scary, since there was a lot of sunlight.

But we did spend a lot of time around sewers and the Jungle. I can see how Stephen King came up with It.

Purrsonal Stories: Tree Climber

 

When I was younger, I used to be the best tree climber. Seriously. If I could reach a branch, I was up that tree like that. *snaps* I would say my climbing days are over--at least for now--but I had a lot of fun hanging around in trees. I was fearless. I'd hit that branch and scurry up like a squirrel.

One day some seventh graders started chasing after me. I was in second grade at the time, so these were big kids compared. I didn't think I could make it to the house, so I did the next best thing: I climbed our tree.

My hands grasped hold of the lowest branch, and I used my running momentum to propel me up. Bark dug into my palms, scraped my knees. I had to get higher.

The boys at that time had gotten off their bikes--yeah, I used to be a fast sprinter too but sadly not anymore--and started climbing after me. Fingers brushed against my ankle.

I had to hurry. The branches were getting thinner. Soon I would either have to get too high up or do something rather rash. As a seven year old, I chose the rash idea. I seized a nearby branch and dangled myself from it. No other branches were below me, but it was still a good seven or eight foot drop to the ground. I'd jumped farther when we used to jump off people's roofs--yeah, it's amazing I'm still alive--so I dropped when they were seconds from grabbing me.

The ground came up quickly, but I barely felt my feet hitting the grass before I was off and running again toward the door. To safety. I yanked on the doorknob as the boys shouted after me and started climbing down the tree. The door opened, and I slipped inside and slammed the door behind me. With a quick look, I breathed a sigh of relief.

I had made it.

I don't remember seeing those seventh graders much after that. We soon moved out of the neighborhood, but I remember that tree and how I used to climb it.