Someone was using a hoe. I’d know that sound if I heard it on a dark night.
It was a little old white-headed woman working in a flower bed.
Looking again at the long, blue pipe, I thought, “There’s no one around. Maybe I could have one slide anyway.”
I eased over and looked up into the dark hollow. It looked scary, but I thought of all the other boys I had seen crawl into it.
I could see the last mark on the ground, and thought, “I bet I can beat that.”
Laying my sack down, I started climbing up. The farther I went, the darker and more scary it got.
Just as I reached the top, my feet slipped. Down I sailed.
All the way down I tried to grab on to something, but there was nothing to grab.
I’m sure some great champions had slid out of that pipe, and no doubt more than one world record had been broken,
but if someone had been there when I came out, I know the record I set would stand today in all its glory.
I came out just like I went in, feet first and belly down. My legs were spread out like a bean-shooter stalk.
Arms flailing the air, I zoomed out and up. I seemed to hang suspended in air at the peak of my climb.
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