Short Stories by Me

Freedom of the Pressita

Michael Brimham lived in a very small neighborhood, where everybody knew everybody. Every time a new family moved in, the surrounding houses would drown them in wonderfully delicious home-made cookies and freshly picked fruit from the citrus trees everyone had in their backyards. The house directly to the left of the Brimham's house was relatively loud, as there were seven little kids running around inside. Across the street was a man who fought in the Vietnam War, and all you had to do to get a great story was just ask him about when he was younger.

A couple streets behind the Brimham's property was an old, beat down house that looked like it belonged to Frankenstein. The gate was rusting, the paint was peeling, and all the windows were blocked with lace curtains that might look thin at first, but you weren't getting a peep through those thick things. A little away from there was a nice blue house with an old couple, yet it was often loud because there were dozens of little grandchildren visiting every day. And there are more houses, more people, more interesting exteriors. Michael could list them all if someone asked him.

On Michael's right was his best friend's house.

Joseph, or Joey, often came over to Michael's house unannounced. Michael was fine with that. Every once in a while, Michael would just look outside his window, and there was Joey's room. Their windows faced each other, and if you didn't know, that is every best friend's dream.

Michael had lived in his current house all sixteen years of his life, and so had Joey. So had the old man across the street, and the old grandparents, and the loud house, and whoever lived with Frankenstein. Almost everyone in the neighborhood had been there Michael's entire life, which was why everyone knew when a new family moved in.

***

"Michael!" Joey shouted, making Michael jump as he packed his bag for school. He rushed to the window.

"Yeah?"

"You won't believe who Mom saw today on her walk," Joey exclaimed with a grin. "The Morning Girl!"

Michael was confused. He had never once heard of anyone in the neighborhood named 'Morning Girl'. Besides, was that even a name?

"Who's that?" Michael shouted back. Joey looked very surprised, and he hesitated for a second before answering.

"You know, Morning Girl. She's been sighted from as early as six in the morning to lunchtime," Joey responded with a nod. "Always on her bike. She says 'Good Morning' to everyone. She always has a bike pump and a book in her bike basket, but that's it. She's been around for over a week, but no one has recently moved in!"

Michael screwed up his face. He was trying to put the puzzle pieces together in his mind. It was like trying to make five different puzzles into one. "What? Where is she?"

Joey shrugged. "Right now? I don't know. I hear that she's been seen for miles in all directions. She seems to have a routine. Mom saw her at seven thirty by Mr. and Mrs. Walker's house. The girl just greeted her and rode off."

Michael thought about this for a second. The Walkers lived about a mile away, if you snaked through the tricky streets the right way. He was about to reply to Joey when his mother hollered for him to start walking to school.

He shouldered his bag, quickly waved goodbye to Joey, and ran out of the door.

***

The next morning, a beautiful Saturday, Michael was readying his bike at the early morning of six. He didn't know why, but he had woke up half an hour earlier with a strong urge to be physically active on a bike in the early morning.

As he was breathing in the morning air, gliding through the neighborhood. Then he saw someone at the end of the long road. It was a girl on a bike, smiling and waving to everyone who was out doing chores, walking, or just sitting on their porch. The girl was only a couple hundred yards away. As she came closer, Michael did something even he hadn't expected. He skidded to a stop right in front of her, blocking the path. She slowed to an unsure stop.