Hi. I’m Albie. Today the porch did most of the talking.
The porch creaks differently for everyone. I sometimes wonder if the chipmunks and monster spiders underneath can tell who’s walking on their ceiling.
Papa’s steps sound like he’s leaving for a mission. He always has somewhere to go. I do not.
Nomi’s steps are quick and bouncy, like a dancing cat in sneakers. My feet sound undecided, like they’re still picking a direction.
Sadie is easy to recognize. She either blasts across the porch in four wild leaps, chasing a squirrel who already moved to another state, or she stops dead and tries to dig straight through the floor. She cannot help herself. Her brain stays on Rodent Emergency Mode.
Max stops every few feet to scope things out. He even looks up, in case of eagle attack. We do not have eagles. Max doesn’t believe that.
The porch likes the company. It’s been alone under snow for months. Boards don’t complain, but they remember.
The chipmunks have a hole at the corner where the porch meets the house, wedged between two rocks even Sadie can’t move. She tries anyway. She digs like the chipmunks insulted her entire family line.
“Sadie’s gonna dig her way to China,” Nomi said.
“Hope she packs snacks,” I said. “That’s a long trip.” I know because I looked it up in my giant book of weird stuff.
Max trotted out with his chest high, scanning for danger or opportunity. When nothing moved, he focused on his second-favorite hobby.
Down in the yard, with perfect technique, he placed a single drop of pee on the tallest blade of grass. He balanced it, then stepped back to admire it. Proud.
Sammy from next door laughed. “World’s first canine pee artist.”
Rock blinked once from his safe spot on the porch step, slow and evaluating. Then he tucked into his shell. Rock does not attend Max’s pee art shows.
Sammy plopped down beside me. We didn’t talk. He kicked a porch board once.
“So… what are we doing?”
I almost said something, but I didn’t.
Sadie kept digging. Max guarded his masterpiece. The porch creaked small and steady beneath us.
The air smelled like warming boards and old leaves waking up.
After a long while, Sammy stood up. “We didn’t talk about anything,” he said.
“Good,” I said. “Talking would’ve ruined it.”
Sammy nodded. “Best porch conversation I ever had.” He headed home.
Sadie finally gave up digging for China. Max checked his grass artwork. Rock blinked once.
The porch creaked slow and friendly under my feet.
Porches are good that way. You don’t have to build a kingdom. You just sit there long enough and realize you were already in one.
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