Chapter 2

Chapter 2
As I eyed the neighborhood, wondering about the people, a young girl road up on a black horse, and wearing a light weight jacket. This being March, it wasn‘t quite spring and not quite winter. One would have to call it almost cold, just sweater weather but the sun was shining and we had a slight breeze.

I will never quite be able to explain or even put my finger on it, but there was something regal in this girl’s appearance and mannerisms. Something about this girl made me want to know her better. This was a future friend.

Like me, she wore pedal pushers and tennis shoes. She had sandy colored hair, with long soft curls, that hung just below her shoulders, all wind tossed from riding. She was also about the same size as me, about 5’4” and 115 pounds or so. The difference between us was her frailty. I was one of those sturdy tomboys.

My mother had just recently cut my hair so short; it fell into a natural ducktail. My fiery red hair was a sharp contrast to that of this girl.

“Hi”, she said, “You moving in?”
“Yup.”
“My name is Charlotte but everybody calls me Willie, because my middle name is Willow. Charlotte Willow. How old are you”?
“I’m 13. And you?” I asked.
“Me too. You’ll probably be checking into the school, in the morning.”
“Yeah. What‘s it like?”, I asked.

Willie filled me in about the school and we chatted for a while. I asked her if the school offered chorus. She was delighted to find out that I, too, sang.“What part do you sing?” she asked. “I’m alto.” I told her.“Fantastic! I’m soprano. We can practice, together. I know some great rounders, I’ll teach you.”Then she asked, “You like horses?”, and I replied, “Oh, most definitely!”“Can you go for a ride? I’ll show you the neighborhood”.

I ran to ask my mother, “Mother. There’s a girl outside that wants me to go riding her horse, with her. She wants to show me the neighborhood.”

Thank goodness, mom was in a good mood or maybe she was just too busy to think about it. She simply said, “I guess so. You’re sure not going to be of any help around here.”

With that, we were off, riding double, to see my new surroundings. Willie was grateful to find a new friend and told me how great it was going to be, having someone to walk home with, after school. I was grateful to have a new friend to show me the ropes.

The street dead-ended just beyond our new home. Beyond the end of the street, there was a field of weeds and grass. The small irrigation ditch that ran along behind my house extended beyond the houses and all the way through the field. We rode along the ditch and out through the field where I was to discover the railroad tracks. I never needed an alarm clock, as the train went by just before 6 AM, every morning, and blew its horn.

She introduced me to the old Cottonwood tree with the hollow trunk. She explained that it had been hit by lightning several times. It stood in a whole row of huge trees that had grown along the banks of the tiny irrigation ditch. One can only imagine why this one tree, among all the others, was the only one hit by lightning and so many times.

At the other end of my street, was highway 47, 2nd street to us. The next block over, Willie rode along the side of the irrigation ditch, which ran between the backyards, and pointed out Mary’s house. Mary was another student our age, going to the same school I would attend. Nancy’s house was two doors down from me, the last house at the dead end.

Down the street, halfway between Willie’s house and mine, and across the street, there was a man who owned pure wolves, penned up in the back yard. Willie told me that not long before I came along, one of those wolves got out and attacked a small child.

After riding up and down each street, in the neighborhood, she stopped by her house to introduce me to her mother.

Willie’s mom was like no one I had ever met before. About 50 years old, she wore her strawberry blonde hair pulled tightly back into a small bun. Although she wore jeans, she had an air about her that I can only describe as ‘prissy and stern’. Oddly enough, this woman was hardly stern, but she gave off that impression.

Their home was very different from my own. There were hardwood floors and very simplistic furniture. Something about the house and the people living in it, made one talk in hushed tones. I never quite understood why. They seemed normal enough but very reserved and very quiet. I could see where Willie got her short-stepped walk, as though afraid to lose control of her actions.

In Willie’s presence, I always had the feeling I was the bull in the china shop. How very different these people were from my own family.

In my house there were three very boisterous children: little brother, my even younger sister, and myself (the eldest). Compared to this family, we were nothing but loud.

Willie was a fragile thing. Her mother told me that she was born with a hole in her back, and if not for surgery would not have lived. I soon became Willie’s protector. How we became such inseparable friends, I will never really know because Willie was about as opposite from myself as one can get.