Our Victorian on North Street was nestled between an abandoned house and a Pacific Bell company. In front of the empty Pacific Bell building was an aged truck. The man that lived in it always parked there through the week and most of the weekend. Only occasionally could you see him around town. Every once in a while he might be parked in front of the public pool, or the county courthouse. On the other side of the street was a two-car parking lot next to an old barn. My fourth grade teacher, Mr. Fuller, would park there every morning. But his car was not there this Sunday evening. After walking through the parking lot, you would enter a memorial park. There were a couple old canons on display, and an old steam engine under a wooden roof with wooden side-rails.
The evening was a quiet one. There was hardly any noise, except for the occasional passing car.
The cool moist air required my brother and I to wear warmer clothes. My brother wore dirty blue jeans with holes at the knee, a long-sleeved navy blue shirt with stripes across the chest, and a pair of old sneakers. I wore a cooler white sleeved shirt, black jeans with barely any trace of holes at the knees, and white tennis shoes. The wet ground did not prevent my brother and I from sitting.
Daniel and I were in the front yard smashing rocks with a hammer and a screwdriver to see if we could find crystals inside, when Mom and Dad walked out. They had Max and Duke on their leashes and were going to walk them in the park across the street.
Dad looked at us, and didn't suspect what we were doing. "You can stay outside, but go...