"Journal Of The Cleft" story

The gentle breeze that blew across my face felt good in the humid heat of north Florida. I instinctively grinned at hearing the good news, but dried out my mouth when I did. I pedaled my small orange mountain bike as fast as I could without straining my lungs. I got the bike for my ninth birthday. at the time it actually fit me, but now I had to hunch over while riding it. I steered over into the shade underneath the live oaks, magnolias, and palm trees that lined the road throughout my neighborhood. The shade immediately felt at least ten degrees cooler than in the sun. The average temperature here in summer ranges from eighty on a cool day to ninety-five on a hot day, even in winter the temperature was probably only seventy to eighty. Even though it was unbearable to be outside for more than an hour, it rained often and the rain was cool. You could still see dark water stains in pits of the asphalt road remaining from the last big rain. Today was wednesday which means the garbage people came to pick up plant scraps from people doing yard work. Huge piles of tree branches and saw palmetto clippings lined the left side of the road while only a few on the right. Occasionally there would be palm tree clippings in the piles which we would take and use as makeshift machetes. I carefully remove my hands from the show handlebars of my bike and raised them up to my head. After a few weeks of practice I finally mastered the art of riding without hands. I quickly skirted around the sharp turn separating the two hemispheres of the neighborhood. As my bike speeds up it starts to wobble and I carefully slow down and maneuver it around the next corner. After the corner there is a fork in the road. Although it's a loop I opt to turn right as my destination is in upper right of the circle. I slow my bike even more so I can find the house. I scan the first few houses and instantly tule them out as they have cars in their driveway. A few houses later I spot two next to each other that have vacant drives. I spot a narrow sand path littered with weeds and a barbed fence in the background. "Ah here we are" I whisper to my self, quickly glancing around to make sure nobody was listening. I mount my bike and quickly pedal throughout the pit ridden driveway. The small native weeds and vines brush and scrape against my ankles, but I hardly feel it as I'm used to trekking through the local pine forests. A rusty barbed fence lines the left of the path, blocking access to a unused dirt road just beyond it. I see my destination just past some low scrub, a lime green one story house with a sheet metal roof and a wooden picket fence. The end of the path lets out to another dirt road with a giant mud puddle in the dead center. I ditch my bike at the end of the path and walk around the mud puddle and into the empty lot next to the house. From the lot I can see to the end of the road, a giant three story tall bright purple house sat at one side of a small dirt cul-de-sac. It was mostly blocked with trees but the bright plum color shown through them. I rattle the rusty coupling on the wooden gate until it comes loose. The gate swings open and I step into the small overgrown lawn. I half walk-half jump up the steps on the small house and pry open the creaky screen door. As always, the house in emanating with the smell of fresh cookies. I rap my knuckles on the front door and stick my hands in my pockets. I hear footsteps coming towards the door. The door quickly flips open.