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Endless Apple Trees
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Unfinished Stories Daniel sat in the old, beat up lawnchair, bored and impatient. He gazed across the street at the other tag sale, all the same sorts of things: old furniture, a set of weights, toys upon toys, books upon books. And an exercise bike. It was the same one as theirs, in about the same shape. He looked at Jessica sitting in a chair for sale, just as he was. He stuck his tongue in her direction bitterly and fearlessly. She did the same.
It was almost 11:30 and the heat of the competition had been hovering between the two tag salesmen all morning. His parents and him had never gotten along with their neighbors, as much as they had tried. Jessica was in his fourth grade class, and the last person Daniel had wanted to see. His parents left for an hour or so to buy groceries. He turned his head, looking at the bright, endless hills of perfectly mown grass, the occasional apple tree, the steady rows of giant houses, and hte deep, panning blue of the sky, cradling the sweet, ripened sun of the lazy saturday morning in May.
There was nothing to do, and nowhere to be. For one strange span of time, his life was on hold. It was the demeaning task of patience. 9-year-old children, like himself, were just not made for patience. He fidgeted...
