Guthries’ 2 Mystic (poem, anecdote)
Growing up at 2 Mystic Lane led to imagination, creation, and elation. The tales and tails of what grew here persisted, and will persist past passing. Fun, drama, strife, adventure, and dreams… flying turtles to pod-racers and trampolines!
They broke their boundaries, bones, and even each other! Always getting the best of one another, rambunctiousness quelled by a vigilant mother, with a unique flavor for every brother. Got boys? We got three!
When mother’s away, the brothers did play.
The disc skipped wallpaper, an invisible scuff… I’d ripped it toward Charlie, he’d see I’m tough! His catch was amazing, and he ripped it right back. My Legos’ shelf defenseless from such an attack! After a dodge, I spun right ‘round. My collection exploded, and littered the ground.
How many rubber-bands could we tie in day? We interwove a centi-band, looped like they were laces. We paced Mystic Lane, until 60 yards away. When the long piece of rubber snapped in our faces! Sometimes I got home early, so it was fun to lock him out.
Our oldest would swing me by the ankles as Charlie fled. I’d attack in circles with flayed arms spread. He couldn’t escape, no matter how much he sped! Together we always won, thanks so much Ned!
Boys will be boys, we wrestled for fun. Often I’d get hurt… shortly we’d be done. Typewriters and rib crunches always escalated to hyped fighters with rib punches! I’d lunge with vigor, and aim for destruction. But revenge to deliver, was lost in eruption….
Our home is beautiful. I invented toys and planned others.
The minji-jet 3000 has not come to fruition, yet, but parachutes, bow n’ arrows, a dammed river? You bet! Our brook was a path, that mom and I took, in galoshes we’d trample, while the neighbors just looked. Our outside was landscaped by my mom the cook, her artistry portrayed like a Narnia book. A barn, my father’s tree house, a vegetable enclosure, walkways, benches and a trellis for viny exposure. The maple trees were spaced so nicely around us. Earth bound acorns and airborne seeds always surround us. On the trampoline, we’d jump and they’d cluster our eyes. The first flip I did, took at least 20 tries, and soaping the surface… was probably not wise.
In winter time we’d have a fire in the den, with hot chocolate we viewed the cold snowmen. Calvin and Hobbes inspired our creations, although such sculptures could be construed as mutilations. Ketchup personified the snow, and Freckles licked each imagined blow. Imagination unnecessary with creations on roads, there we’d wait out the fate of what snowmen forebode…. Eventually the truck arrived at the top of Mystic Lane, it’s plow appropriately known as Frosty’s Bane. It’s approach consistent as always, scuffing him on the right, we’d imagine his fear and unheard plight. In less than a minute, the scooping bane did something unforeseen, which we later named the “sideways reverse guillotine.” His body exploded into a cloudy poof, rocketing his head to clip the truck cabin’s roof. If that doesn’t convince you that little boys cause dread, know also that Jimmy, Charlie, and I cheered while we stomped on the head.
4-year-old me knew gender-normatives rather than physical facts. Boy pets were dogs, the girls were cats. One day while playing, Carly asked to go inside to pee. Silly girl didn’t know to… “Go behind a tree.” I explained matter-of-factly. She stated, “I can’t.” As if it required substantial dexterity… I held confident in her growing ability… “C’mon Carly, just follow after me.” I pulled down my sweatpants, underpants after, routed the plumbing, and clapped with laughter. Thirty seconds later “Aaaah, that was easy!” And pulled my pants up (was rather breezy). She acknowledged the puddle, but what she said left me befuddled “I can’t.” So I mentally judged… didn’t placate, and started to nudge. My instructions asserted, “Take off your pants…underwear too…” Then I got a glance, and gained my first clue. I felt surprise and offered concern, “How do you pee?” My high pitched voice: serious and stern. She explained, “Sitting down…” So I helped her squat and pee on the ground.
Not all memories are so clear to me. Here’s one that my brother’s class remembers when I was 3. Charlie took the bus stop on his first day of school, I was sad he was gone… no one else I knew was so cool. Every school morning, I’d say goodbye. “Let me go alone!” I’d audibly cry. And shortly allowed to do just that: on the stipulation I wear my boots and my hat. Waving my whole body at the bus, that’s all I wore. This place is so gorgeous, with a swing in the front, and brook in the rear, when we sell it though, I won’t shed a tear. I won’t even be sad! But happy to see a new family glad. Soon they’ll experience its joys and its mystery… They too might add some boys to its history!