Piney Woods

I breathe deeply. The earthy smell of the wet soil fills my nostrils as I walk down the
stone path. Someone laid this out years ago, probably just to cross the stream. I thank them for
giving me a place to wander. My head is often so full of thoughts and walking helps me sort
them out. I used to walk through my neighborhood, but I got bored of the gravel road and the
little houses that all looked the same. I wanted a space of my own and a beautiful path to
follow. Well, just a hop, skip, and a jump into the woods across from my house, I found this
stone pathway. It’s all overgrown and uneven, but I like it like that. I have to watch my feet as I
go over the pavers and it helps me to focus on my thoughts. 
After another half mile, the path comes to an arched, stone bridge, which is amazingly
still standing. It runs over this ravine with a little creek in the bottom of it. I guess the water was
higher when they built the bridge. I don’t know why, but I always stop at the bridge. I’ve never
crossed to the other side. I can see that the path continues on in the same way, but I’ve
previously had no interest in it. It’s as if the bridge was always my destination. Today is no
different. I plop myself down right on top of the arch, pull my thick hair into a ponytail, stretch
my legs out, and lean my back onto the little wall. From my burnt orange side bag, I pull out my
tiny seat cushion, a bag of grapes, and a good book. My legs are thankful for the rest and the
coolness of the stones. I breathe deeply again as a lovely breeze blows in off the water below.
Before I begin reading, I look up to the branches above me, grateful for the shade this large oak
provides. Studying the greenery, I realize that it’s a post oak because of the cross-shaped leaves.
I learned that on a field trip once and it just stuck with me. My eyes drop back down to my lap,
and I toss a couple of grapes in my mouth. I smile, remembering why I brought the grapes in
the first place. 
Just as I start to open the book, I hear whistling in the distance. I snap my head up and
look around, but the sound is too far off. I don’t hear it anymore anyways. I return my gaze to
page forty-three, but my ears strain for the softest melody above the babbling of the creek. And
I hear it again! Surely it’s just a bird? No, they don’t sing a tune. It’s definitely a human. 
What if I’m trespassing on someone else’s property! I can hear the occasional whistle
getting louder and my stomach sinks. It’s coming from the other side of the bridge. Of course
this is someone’s property, it can’t belong to nobody! I’m starting to hear footsteps
accompanying the Whistler. I scramble to my feet, stuffing the grapes and cushion into my bag,
and twist my head around frantically as the steps get closer. I decide that my best bet is to hide
behind the post oak. Hopefully the Whistler doesn’t like to go past the bridge either. 
The melody starts again, but stops very suddenly. I think the person is at the foot of the
bridge. Can they see me? I hear a few more footfalls, a moment of silence, and then the turning
of a page.
My book. I had left the stupid book behind in my rush. I reflexively slap my forehead. 
“Uh, hullo? Anybody there?” 
My eyes widen in embarrassment as my cheeks flush. Not just a person, a boy. And he
heard my movement. Now I have to come out and admit I was hiding behind a tree. And
trespassing. 
“Uhh,” he says again, but doesn’t finish his sentence. 
Maybe he’s not sure what he heard. Maybe I can pretend to have just come down the
path if I move fast. It’s my only shot.
 I take a big step away from the tree and reach the stone road. As I look towards the
bridge, I notice that he had turned his back. Lucky! Now I walk aimlessly along the path,
looking down at the ground. 
“Hullo?” I hear from the blonde-haired boy. 
“Oh, hi there. Have you perhaps seen- ah, my book! You found it!” I point to his hand
and smile as big as I can. 
“Uh, yeah, this yours? The-” he hesitates, “Grapes o’ Wrath?” 
“Yeah, that’s it. Thank you,” I say as he hands it out to me. 
“No pro’lem,” he snickers. 
I look at him in confusion. 
“Well, that’s kinda a funny name innit?” He snickers again, “I mean, whatta the grapes
gotta be so mad about?” 
I chuckle, too. He has a point. 
“Well it’s not actually about grapes, y’know. It’s about the Great Depression.” 
“You mean the ‘grape’ depression,” he snickers again. 
I shake my head, still smiling. 
“I guess it’s for older people,” I say as I cock an eyebrow at him. He had to be about
fifteen. 
He smiles back at me, a million freckles dotting his face. 
“Reckon so. My brother’d prob’ly like it, too.” 
“Why’s that?” 
“He’s always readin’ weird stuff an’ old stuff. I don’t get what he finds so int’restin’,” he
drawls as he shrugs his sleeveless shoulders. 
“I guess a lot of people don’t get it.” 
“Hey, are you alright? You ain’t lost or nothin’?” His smug expression turns to concern. 
“Oh, no, I’ll find my way back just fine,” I say truthfully as I wave his manners away. 
“We-e-elp,” he drawls again, “it’s almost lunch time and I’d hate for you to skip a meal.
D’you wanna come on back to the house for a quick bite? I promise we don’t.” He grins his
teeth playfully. 
“No, no, I really couldn’t bother y’all with another mouth,” I say, trying to be polite. I’m
really not comfortable following a stranger back to his house, even if he is young. 
“Hell, one more won’t set us back none. And I bet if-” but I didn’t get to find out what
he would bet. Another voice cut through the trees suddenly. 
“Dammit, Jay Dubbaya, where’d you get to?” 
The boy, J.W., grins again. 
“I’m right here, ya dumbass mule,” he calls back. 
“On the bridge? What’s got ya-” but the other boy shuts his mouth when he sees us. 
I smile at him, starting to feel more uncomfortable. Now there are two of them. 
“I met a frien’, Jesse.” J.W. throws a thumb back in my direction. 
“Hello,” I sort of sing to the new, equally freckled boy. Well, almost a man, I suppose.
He looks like he’s much closer to my age, maybe even older. 
“Jesse” gives a slight shake of his head before answering me. 
“Hiya, ma’am,” he mutters as he tilts his head down in a nod. 
“She was just walkin’ through here an’ dropped ‘er book.” J.W. points to my waist,
where I’m clutching Steinbeck into my stomach. 
“I’m Rita,” I get out as I try to keep my voice steady. 
“Like Rita Hayworth?” The younger one asks. 
“Who?” 
 “Rita Hayworth. ‘The Lady from Shanghai’? ‘Cover Girl’?” J.W. was holding out his
hands as if to say, ‘don’t you know.’ 
I just shake my head and frown slightly. Was she an Asian model? 
“She’s an actress,” Jesse tells me, shaking his head at his little brother. 
“Most people don’t know movie stars from the ‘40’s, Jay Dubb.” 
“Yeah, but I thought she liked old stuff. G’on, tell ‘im ‘bout the “grape” depression.” He
leans against the wall of the bridge, already looking bored. 
I turn my head to the brown-haired brother, expecting a confused look. Instead, I’m met
with an exasperated expression. 
“‘Grapes of Wrath’ is not about grapes, dammit!” He quickly looks at me and
apologizes. 
I can’t help but burst into laughter. They must have had this fight a hundred times and
yet he still knows how to rile up his big brother. What a strange situation I’ve fallen into. 
J.W. rolls his eyes to me and motions his thumb back to Jesse’s frustrated face. 
“Told ya he likes that stuff,” he tries to convince me of his annoyance, but a little smirk
lifts the corner of his mouth. 
“Are-are you readin’ ‘Grapes’?” Jesse seems to be ignoring his brother. I notice that he
hasn’t taken a single step closer since he saw me. 
“Yeah, I’m reading it for school.” 
“Wow, I wish we read that stuff in school,” Jesse replied in awe. 
“Y’mean when you were in school,” J.W. interjected. 
“Yeah. I graduated this year,” he explained to me. 
“Cool, congrats. I have another year left,” I replied. 
“Hey, Jess, did you come to tell me somethin’?” 
Jesse looked back at his blonde brother with fear in his eyes. 
“Ma said lunch is almost ready.” 
“Shee-it. C’mon, le’s go. You comin’ Rita?” 
“Um,” I say uncertainly. 
“Did you wanna?” Jesse asks me in surprise. 
“Um,” I say again, in a higher tone. 
“‘Course she wants to come, Ma’s makin’ cornbread. You’re gonna love it,” J.W. assures
me. 
“Well, yeah, if you haven’t eaten already, you outta. And Ma’ll kill us if we’re any
later.” 
“Hey, she mightn’t if we bring someone else to distract ‘er,” J.W. said as he walked up to
his brother. I didn’t see it before, but he was shorter than Jesse by a good six inches. 
“I reckon so. But we don’t wanna pressure ya, ma’am.” 
I stood for another moment, trying to make up my mind. I am starving, and they really
don’t feel like strangers anymore. They sure do seem like nice people and I don’t want to make
them late. 
“No problem, I’ll come,” I say with a shrug of my shoulder that was anything but
nonchalant. 
“Yes! She really cain’t blame us now, we’re jus’ helpin’ a lost girl!” J.W. slaps his brother
on the back in celebration. “You will pretend to be lost, won’t ya, Rita?” 
“Jay Dubbaya, would ya shut your trap and keep your eyes peeled like you’re s’posed
to? Anyway, Miss Rita, our Ma does make the bes’ cornbread in the county. We’ll be there in
jus’ a few minutes.” 
 “I can’t wait to try it!” That’s all I can manage to say as I realize what exactly I’ve signed
up for: at least an hour of talking to total strangers and eating their food, practically uninvited.
What my own mom would say if she could see me now…