Like 'Children of the Corn', Without The Corn

There are a lot of kids in our new neighborhood. I know there are some adults, too. At least I think. I really haven't seen them much. I caught a glimpse of the woman across the street, scurrying up the pathway to her porch last week. I chatted very briefly with a woman next door who was on her way out to her car. A man a couple houses over waved at me while I was in the backyard with the kids once. I guess I thought once we moved to the city we would be seeing more people on a day to day basis. There just doesn't seem to be much in the way of activity here. They all seem rushed to get to wherever they're going.

Then there are the children.

There is a small gaggle of neighborhood kids that you can either see or hear playing about on this and the intersecting streets. They are very friendly. Unusually friendly and they speak as polite adults would. I think it's pretty neat. They aren't shy, but they're not bothersome, either. But sometimes they kind of scare me.

Yesterday I was out front doing a little gardening after the Easter festivities and saw a shadow pass over my pansies. I turned and was startled by a tall, twelvish-year old boy with pecan colored hair, looming over me, watching me work.

"Hi" he said, half waving.
"Hi there."
"Have you met me yet?" Interesting way to ask.
"Umm, I don't think so."
He introduces himself and points to the large house down the street where he lives.
"That's where we all play. So whenever they want to play, they can come, too." He gestures to David and Sofia who have made their way out onto the front stoop to check out the boy.
"Well, that's nice. Thank you."

We make small talk for a bit about how nice the neighborhood is and then he lists off the names of the other children, asking whom I've met so far. I tell him I can't remember all of their names but that I met at least six or seven others.

"Oh well," he says dismissively. "You'll meet them all sooner or later." There's something a little ominous to this last line. I hope I'm not going to meet them at the neighborhood ritual adult sacrifice. I've yet to be introduced to "He Who Walks Behind The Row Houses", so I think I'm safe, for the time being. Maybe if I wear my hair in ponytails no one will notice I'm thirty-two.

If I don't blog for another week or two, someone send out a search party.