Cache la Poudre
As we looped back through bellevue and laporte the sun dripped across the windshield like golden promise. My eyes fell from the sky and I had the rare frustration that 65 mph was much to fast for this stretch of road, this stretch of time. It would have been better to leave my tires in the road and tumble down the hillside into the grassy valley like we did as children before it hurt our bones and ego’s but I drove on, respecting the fact that 287 is the deadliest highway in the United States and is not a place for child’s play and whimsy. So many place are not a place for that now, happiness banished to our individual skull cages, the world is no longer a place for the living.
Speaking of cages, we stopped by my old junior high school on the way home. It is a surprisingly lovely place when Mrs. Schwindt isn’t there. They say junior high is the worst time for kids, it’s when kids are mean and vicious and hurtful. I was bullied and berated and lied about and lied to in excess at that place, but only by the teachers and staff. I mean, sure, there is always the guy that yells something implying you have male genitalia to you across the entire art studio, but whatever, that just how boys are.
I like to take the girls there to play and picnic sometimes and hope I don’t run into anyone that recognizes me but I have no idea who they are, which is probably everyone. Anyway, it is my bet that CLP has the best grounds of any school around, even if it really does stand for Colorado’s Little Prison.