ROANOKE TIMES
Copyright (c) 1997, Roanoke Times
DATE: Wednesday, March 26, 1997 TAG: 9703260004
SECTION: EDITORIAL PAGE: A-15 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: SANDRA TUCKER-MAXWELL
HIS NAME was Danny. I remember the first time I met him. It was in early April; trees were just budding out, the grass was fresh and not yet cut, so that as he ran down the hillside to me he left a dewy path. My knees got a little wet, kneeling down to greet him.
I was older than he, but it didn't really make a difference. We liked the same things: a sunny day, a good roll and tumble in the dandelion-sprinkled meadow, followed by something to drink. Danny had a little problem holding his bottle, so I would help. We both would be very thirsty. After all, playing is hard work.
After school and homework, I was free to go see Danny. I would hurry down the dogwood-canopied lane to the farm, my feet raising dust swirls, sending pebbles flying. Our time together was limited, so I wanted to make every minute count.
With his curly black hair and blue eyes he was quite a contrast to me. I had a copper-penny straight bob and green eyes, but love is blind - so what did any of that matter?
We would walk along together, stopping at the fence row that bounded the North Fork of the Shenandoah River. I would pick violets and make a chain to put around his neck. He would nuzzle me as I sat next to him, his breath warm and sweet. With a hug I would ruffle his curls, and then we were off again, gamboling along the riverside, watching the ducks on the water.
Our love couldn't last - I knew that. Soon it would be time for me to go home to West Virginia. Danny would also be leaving the Hollister farm for one farther up the valley, where he would become heavily involved in 4-H activities with another child, so we spent almost every afternoon of that wonderful springtime together.
Then came the afternoon when I skipped down the lane in a spring rain, watching the drops ploosh into the dust. I pushed open the farm gate and waited. No Danny. I rushed up the porch and ran in the hall, calling for Mrs. Hollister, the tears that coursed down my face making tracks like the raindrops had in the dusty lane.
"Now, now, love." Mrs. Hollister tried to console me, holding me close to her aproned and ample bosom. "You knew that the little lamb would be leaving soon - the boy who's to raise him for the fair just came earlier than we had expected." She dried my tears. "Just remember, child. You saved him from certain death when his momma wouldn't accept him because he was not white. You'll always have the memory of bottle feeding him and playing with him."
You know, she was right.
SANDRA TUCKER-MAXWELL of Roanoke is administrative assistant at Newell Industries.
LENGTH: Medium: 54 linesby CNB