One of Those Nights

Have you ever seen one of those movies that has kids running around on a street in their neighborhood in the summer? Women are usually sitting on chairs as they look on to the activities around them. The men are barbequing or throwing out comments about the games. It slowly turns to dusk, but no one cares because it’s just one of those nights. 

I thought they didn’t exist anymore; I thought it was reminiscent of a time when life was slower and kids liked playing outside more than sitting indoors watching TV or playing on the computer. I realize that even in my childhood, these were few and far between, and it was still never exactly like this.

And then I came to Georgia. 

My night could have been shown in those movies. The neighbor kids and I played Hide and Seek on the gravel road in the summer air while the women sat on a bench, gossiping about the week’s events. At times, they would take pity on me, and soon became the reason I continued playing. They motioned to the kids’ hiding spots when I was the seeker. When I was hiding, they let me crouch behind them or motioned to stand inside their gates. They told me when it was safe to come out and run to the wall, and they laughed with me when I could no longer use the excuse of not understanding the game for losing so many times. 

On the other side of the street, the men gathered and, although at first seemingly uninterested, they quickly found themselves sucked in to the movements around them. Playing antagonists, they threw the seeker off the hider’s trail and pointed out hiding spots. 

Slowly, it turned to dusk, but no one noticed. The cows had long gone through and the last of the horses were returning home from the fields. But none of it mattered. We were too busy running, hiding, yelling, laughing, and seeking to care what time it was, whether dinner was ready, or if the chickens had been fed. How can I ever leave?