It was early morning and his only company was the sound of splashing, the lazy tweets of a disinterested bird and the crunching of his slippered feet on the gravel of the drive way as he washed the car that would take every body away. Everybody but him.He clanged the metal bucket back under the antique brass tap for a refill scratched his crotch through his worn shorts and idly watched the morning break over the gleaming dripping car as his thoughts echoed and swirled like the water hitting the bottom of the bucket. He would be missing the best Christmas holiday of his life.Weeks before, he had failed his grade exams by a small margin that his father then solemnly deemed "unacceptable". Now he would be spending Christmas studying and copying notes with his grand mother. His siblings commiserated with sympathetic noises briefly then excitedly turned to each other to make more holiday plans without him.The gate bell buzzed at the door of his house. His "warder" his Grandmother had. Sure, I knew there was a much bigger world out there. Hell, I grew up dreaming of it, escaping through the pages of National Geographic to places far and wide. I even had my gramma’s tales, the few times she’d share them, of growing up in Lyon. Yeah, in my head, I’d visited Tuscany, the Amazon, New York, Jamaica, Mexico, the wilds of Africa, even Antarctica. In reality, however, it was rare that I made it out of the prison camp that was home sweet home. Oh, yeah, Berkeley, cause it was just up the street really, and the City (San Francisco to all you non-natives), but other than that, I was going nowhere fast. Oh, I should mention that, when I was growing up, we used to take a camping trip during the summer. One whole week in a strange world that fascinated me. Tents and sleeping bags and a campfire and streams to go wading in and birds of every description and size. Other animals too, of the non-human variety. Raccoons and deer were as exotic to me as lions and tigers. I mean, hell,.
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