One Afternoon

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he couldn't find us, even though we were crouching behind the nearby pines at the edge of his yard. Still waiting at least ten more minutes (to see if the old crab would emerge from his door) Ryan and I would plan our escape route. A quick sprint down the road would bring us to our destination: the backyard tree fort. It was a plan. A decent plan.
The tree house was where we spent most of our time. It served as our very own private room and office. There we'd plan "attacks," brush up on our carpentry skills, and spend hours on end perfecting each and every GI Joe base we had. Like any ordinary club or conspiracy group, our tree fort was top secret. To make sure that strangers would never enter, we left shallow holes in the entryway covered with layers of crossed sticks and leaves. They were bound to at least startle someone, but our hopes were for the intruder to retreat after breaking a leg. There were times when I'd walk right over a trap without even knowing, never once ...

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