Hiding in a Tree

One morning when I was ten, I climbed to the top branches of a large elm in our front yard. Lunchtime rolled around, but I decided to see what would happen if I stayed in the tree. My mom came out and called for me first. Then my dad. I watched, with a strange feeling of power. Then my folks got the neighbors looking for me. I was delighted. An hour later, the police arrived. They scribbled some notes, barked on their radio, and left. Fascinating. But by this time my scheme was starting to backfire—hunger. When my mom and dad went to search the woods by the creek, I slipped down the tree and raided the fridge. When my parents returned, they found me sleeping (fake) in my bed, terribly ill (fake). But the ruse didn’t work, and my dad told me that I could just stay in bed until breakfast! A little bit of this incident found its way into Red Stone.