“How can I possibly be expected to handle school on a day like this?” – Ferris Bueller
“We’re off to the witch, we may never never, never come home,
but the magic that we’ll feel is worth a lifetime” – Ronnie James Dio
Look down with me upon this day, across the high desert to a certain place. To an old trailer tanker resting deplete. Its only cargo, on the floor of this rusting keep. Look closely, so closely at a picture of two boys, a picture left in this place, as if by choice. Two faces from history, that time will repeat. Even now comes knocking, the last who will see.
Two heads we see, headed west, down a sunbaked path; one with brown hair, the other a black mess. The sun falls fast on this single day of spring, shooting down through the heavens, bringing something on its wings. It would appear the burdens carried from a year of math and art. Now are loose without a feeling. For these boys walk without an arc. Why there shoes made by converse, leave hardly a trace. As they carry sacks of lunch and knowledge to the place of secret things. “School is not made for the living”, one boy cries unto the air, and they both laugh without smiling for the truth is there somewhere. For a moment, let us watch them still frozen in time. In their purity shimmering, moving onward in this rhyme.
Let us look at the picture that is painted from above. A numbered highway in the background, beyond it scrubland wild with yucca, dryland arroyos, lie open, writhing with their scars. Down the path that leads us westward lies a rusted oil tanker and two old cars. It is a graveyard of a shadow of another place tomorrow. For it is tomorrow where they go, a bit of yesterday, and as the clouds flow from the east, they turn their backs, and begin to walk to stray. Indeed, we see them avoid a snake his triangle head of spotted gray. “No matter it all”, one boy he brays, the other sings out, “we missed our school today”. A matter of steps a slight incline, the scrubland rolls out, and dips and divides. At last we watch the two boys much slower, reach the rusted oil tanker, the place they know they will soon grow much older.
For here, it is we cannot grow nearer, the picture shimmers, dances, and glimmers. A place were two boys search for cracks in what is sutured. Finding doors that open, on order, past and future. Ruins discovered in place. Veils ripped from openings, alien voices calling out from deep to deep. It is the discovery of the last of days. It is here they come to play. If we could venture a thought of what they find, inside compartments of an old oil tanker way past its prime. Could they go where one has not been, could they find the way past when? Is there blackness beyond the divide, or have they found the path to the divine.
“That picture looks like us”, one boy says, a film of cool perspiration resting upon his brow. The thick darkness inside the front compartment of the tanker surrounds the thin beam of the flashlight. It gives the feeling of a tomb. “It could be us”, the other boy says softly.” His voice carries a soft echo through the oval opening into the next compartment. It is there; we look and see a sudden wind created. We watch as it lifts itself backwards through another opening, and then upwards through the open hatch, as if with a sudden relief.
Look down with me upon this day, across the high desert to a certain place. To an old trailer tanker resting deplete. Its only cargo, on the floor of this rusting keep. Look closely, so closely at a picture of two boys, a picture left this place, as if by choice. Two faces from history, that time will repeat. Even now comes knocking, the last who will see.
For my eighth grade English teacher Mrs. Howey, who charged me to read the classics fearlessly, and to write as if I were mad. I will forever carry the guilt of disappointing her by playing hooky on the final day of school in the spring of 1974. In her aggrieved state, I have always hoped to share with Mrs. Howey that I was indeed engaged in research for how to do both of the charges thus listed above. – 03.22.2019 – דָנִיֵּאל
Great post Daniel, warmed my heart, and made for a fantastic Friday morning. I pray your repertoire of stories never dries. 😉
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Thanks much Wang. Hope your weekend was a good one . I hope my stories never get dull. 😉
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You have set a pretty high standard for yourself. No pressure or anything, but your readers are counting on you. 😉
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Endearing tale Daniel. I had not heard the term hooky in years. Brought back happy memories.
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Happy to hear that Ginger. Thank you. Happy memories are the best.
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I love happy memories, the world needs more of them! 🙂
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Neat post, reminded me of a couple of my own good experiences when young. Good times back then.
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Love your comment. Thank you. Happy you had good memories from this piece.
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Very welcome!
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This should be in a guidebook for the modern boy. The last time it was done this kind of right was when Ferris did it. Appropriate quote by the way. 😉
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Lol I am in great company with Ferris. Thank you very much Darrin. 😀
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Your welcome, FBDO is one of my favorites from the past as well.
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I enjoy these types of tales very much Daniel. It is like reading Tom Sawyer all over again. I especially enjoyed your note to your English teacher at the end.
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Thank you King. I am a great fan of Mr. Sawyer so what a compliment that is. 😉
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You are welcome. I too enjoy Mark Twain’s Tom Sawyer.
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Daniel, I enjoyed this writing very much. Brought me back to a many memories all good of my own. Great way to end the week.
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Thank you Dallas, apologies for the late reply. Happy you liked this.
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No Problem, I am late for most things. 😉
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A quote from my favorite movie of all time, and an adventure awaited me this morning. I am envious of the mischief and the good time you boys had. 🙂 ❤
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Thank you Lauren for your kind comment. Adventures are for everyone. 😁
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yes they are, I am thrilled to live through your words of adventure. Vicariously of course. 😉
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Ah the wonderful days of playing hooky. 🙂 I have been there and done that many times. Great tale Daniel, I liked the way you weaved the picture into it. Curious if you boys found the picture or left it there to be found?
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Hi Ryan, thank you for your comment. The picture of course was left for us to find it. 😉
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I thought so, the entire story had a haunted theme going on. As always, great stuff. 🙂
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Great piece of writing. Enjoyed it very much. Thank you.
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Thank you Lars, very happy you liked this.
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Fun read, and it was done well.
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Thank you very much. Happy you enjoyed it.
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A treasure of a story Daniel, your personal style of writing stands at it’s best in this type of piece.
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Thank you Karen. I appreciate your kind compliment.
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Most welcome.
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This is great. Like Ryan I am curious about the picture and the part it plays. Fan of DIO so you had me there. 😉
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Hi always happy when a DIO fan reads my stuff. Like I told Ryan the picture was there waiting for us. Thank you for reading and commenting.
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Ronnie James did rock the house every-time. The song was an excellent fit with your post.
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This will be another favorite for me. Great memories of my own of playing hooky. As always well done.
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Hooky I think is a good thing. 😉 thank you for commenting Scott always appreciate it.
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My pleasure. It is fun to read your work.
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This was wonderfully written Daniel. A very sweet whimsical piece. What a wonderful memory you have.
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Hi Blaire, thank you for your comment. My memory always seems to remember fun stuff. 😉
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🙂 mine too!!!
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I enjoyed reading this Daniel. I found myself studying many lines and finding a deeper meaning. Something I often do with your writing. A favorite line, as an example, ““School is not made for the living”, one boy cries unto the air, and they both laugh without smiling for the truth is there somewhere.”
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I always wondered what kid liked school.😉 Thank you Carmel for a wonderful comment.
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LOL, I agree, all things creative were not born in four walls. Your welcome on the comment.
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Daniel, this is a sweet memoir, and will be added to the growing list of favorites I have printed off of your writing. Thank you.
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Hi Lynette, thank you for your kind comment. Always grateful someone would print my words. Thanks again.
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Your most welcome. I would encourage you to publish your works, I believe there would be an interest for them. 🙂
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Daniel I never played hooky, but after reading your story I wish I had. loved it. ❤ ❤ ❤
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Hooky is old school I think. I am not sure what people do now, may be just drop out. 😉 I am sure you would have been a great at playing hooky. Thank you for your comment Heather.
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LOL I think I was too chicken to ever break the rules but I wish I had more often. You are right, it is probably called drop out now, instead of skipping school, or hooky.
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I was a pretty quiet kid, the hooky experience was just the once, well maybe twice. 😉
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Now that’s funny, but you forget I have read all the “New Hardy Boy” stories you have posted.
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I read this, and decided to skip work today and go goof off. 😉 Your influence is large…
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Well all right then, I am doing something right. 😉 Thank you for sharing that, made my day. 🙂
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Heh this made me fill like a kid again, brought back some beautiful memories of skipping school. 😉
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Thank you Alex, happy this post inspired a warm memory or two for you. Thanks for commenting.
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Need a great thumbs up sign for this post. 🙂
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Thank you Rudy, I appreciate your thumbs up. 🙂
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Daniel my young friend I had to smile as I read this wonderful memory of yours. My examples of such times took place well before yours, but they are filled with with great thoughts ofand memories of a young life well lived on the edge outside the confines of the classroom. Bill
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Thank you Bill for sharing your thoughts and memories on the subject of hooky. 😉 Outside the classroom back in the day probably achieved more, probably still does. 😉
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Swinging from trees and swimming when warm enough in the local swimming hole, were what those fine days consisted of. 🙂
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Great story!
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Thank you for commenting. Happy you liked it.
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Hi Daniel, I liked the way this began. Great quotes and music as well, sandwiched and held together by your memories from a childhood mystically lived. 😉
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Thank you Steve, I like how you said that. “a childhood mystically lived”. With your permission I might borrow someday.
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Borrow away and keep as your own Daniel! 😉 🙂 🙂
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Wonderful story for a life well lived. Had my own share of hooky stories as a kid. 🙂
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Hi Warren, Happy you liked this, and even happier it brought back some great memories for you. 🙂
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Once again I have to offer my thanks to you for a writing that makes my day. I enjoyed all the imagery, and the note to the former teacher is a great touch. Well done.
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Thank you Russ for commenting. She was a good teacher, and I probably should have not skipped her class but it was worth it after all. 😉
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One might say playing hooky gave you a well rounded education. 😉
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I know it’s just hooky, but there is something haunting in this piece. Yes, Mrs. Howey’s disappointment sits around your neck like a necklace made of Dante’s Inferno. This reminds me of my fave video game, ever…Silent Hill, which is haunting on steroids.
Cool tune!
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Hi Resa, of course there is a little haunting in their my friend. A little Hardy Boy too. The picture was found looked like it was taken in the depression era. Wish I had it still. It was lost in one to many moves. I am a big fan of DIO, too bad he had to depart this earth way too soon. I will have to look up your video game, now that was a surprise. BTW have you seen “The Haunting of Hill House series on Netflix. Truly creepy and well done.
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Mate you outdid yourself with this one. Hooky should be considered sport. 😉
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Thank you Shaun for your comment. I think you have a great idea in making Hooky into a sport. A game without rules. 😉
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