Wild Blackberries
Wild blackberries ran the block behind the homes on 16th Avenue. They’d grown so tall secret passages formed beneath their canopy. Under the thickness, caves shaped where we convened as kids and pretended we were Zorro. We tucked our wood swords, masks and capes in small boxes for safe keeping and wore them when we ventured forth on a mission.
In 5th grade, Vincent Matsudiara and I rolled maple leaf and newspaper cigarettes that we smoked in the backyard of our house. Unintentionally, we started a small grass fire that we fortunately doused with the garden hose. This left conspicuous evidence of our foolishness.
Mom returned from work in the afternoon and was visibly angry. I caught the bitter end of a cherry switch. Upset, I bolted from home traveling a secret passage to a blackberry cave that Joe Caasi and I used. It was behind the haunted house at the end of the block.
Joe came out when I signaled him that I was in hiding. I informed him I was planning on leaving the neighborhood but was hungry and needed money. He left for a few minutes, returning shortly with a cheese sandwich. He wanted to know where I was going.
Gobbling it down. I replied. “Back home. I’m still hungry. This isn’t gonna work.”
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