Migrators
“He kept his legs churning forward. All he could see was the ground rolling by underneath him. He saw grass—that was good. He knew he had to be close to the road.
Alan thought he heard the phone ringing. He let the bow of the boat hit the ground and he rolled it off of his shoulders. He stood panting as he looked up at the big white house, listening for the phone. It was too soon—Joe had just left on the bus a few minutes earlier—but he was terrified he’d miss a call from the school.
He didn’t h...ear ringing. He heard a gentle, padding step approaching.
Bob jogged up. He pulled out his headphones.
“You found a boat,” Bob said.
Alan smiled. “It’s the Colonel’s old boat. My wife said it had a leak.”
“You need help carrying it?”
“No, I’m fine. I don’t want to interrupt your run.”
“Nonsense,” Bob said. “I’m almost done anyway.”
“Okay,” Alan said. He walked to the back of the aluminum skiff and grabbed the handles. Bob lifted the bow by the painter.MoreLess
Alan thought he heard the phone ringing. He let the bow of the boat hit the ground and he rolled it off of his shoulders. He stood panting as he looked up at the big white house, listening for the phone. It was too soon—Joe had just left on the bus a few minutes earlier—but he was terrified he’d miss a call from the school.
He didn’t h...ear ringing. He heard a gentle, padding step approaching.
Bob jogged up. He pulled out his headphones.
“You found a boat,” Bob said.
Alan smiled. “It’s the Colonel’s old boat. My wife said it had a leak.”
“You need help carrying it?”
“No, I’m fine. I don’t want to interrupt your run.”
“Nonsense,” Bob said. “I’m almost done anyway.”
“Okay,” Alan said. He walked to the back of the aluminum skiff and grabbed the handles. Bob lifted the bow by the painter.MoreLess
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