Wayward Son

The buzzing hum of the cicadas in the midnight heat.

Uneven sidewalks illuminated only by the dim street lights lead us to the graffiti covered bridge.

This isn’t the ideal place for a six year old in the middle of the night.

The first time I heard about the chupacabra, it was in the news reports of mangled livestock and pets sucked dry of life essence.

My intrusive thoughts as a six year old were that the chupacabra was sucking the blood out of our new puppy named Popeye like a juice box.

He was a mutt from the local dog pound a gift for my birthday from my grandpa Benjamin.

We lived in a trailer park in a dusty nowhere town in New Mexico.

I had a group of friends from this trailer park there was about five of us.

We’d meet by the communal playground and usually play to our hearts content without really being bothered by anyone.

Because of the time I can’t remember their names even their faces have become blurry in my memories.

For all intents and purposes I will refer to them as Tom and Trina.

Most of our time was occupied with playing normal kid games. Every once in awhile though we’d find ourselves in places we shouldn’t be.

One of those places was an abandoned warehouse that was used to house mining equipment for a nearby copper mine.

I was forbidden to go up there or I would catch a whooping.

The idea of that should’ve stopped my brother and I in our tracks but hindsight is always 20/20 when your a rapscallion

One day in the warehouse i found what I was sure to be two sticks of dynamite.

I didn’t say anything to anybody cause if word got out I’d be one a one way ticket to an episode of cops.

We were gritty kids and our compass always pointed in one direction.

The way of adventure.

As an adult reminiscing about my childhood I am amazed that I am alive.

My Grandpa use to tell my mom that my brother and I use to take naps so our guardian angels can catch up with us.

But I digress.

Panicked heartbeat thumping a rhythm of nausea, blood vessel pounding in my skull.

I had been running for about an hour and I couldn’t find Popeye anywhere.

He had gotten out of our make shift ghetto shitty knot that we used to tie him to a old ac unit.

Back at the trailer park background I met back up with my friends.

We had all been looking for Popeye but no luck.

Our parents looked around a bit called some friends and asked if they had seen a puppy.

Still no luck.

It was getting late and our parents had been having a bbq together and we were about to have our own get together.

Gathered around a swing set we saw a black stream of bats come out from the bottom of old train bridge on the south side of town.

I had become convinced that the chupacabra had taken Popeye, and there was an ominous feeling coming from that graffiti covered bridge.

If the chupacabra was hiding in our town it would be there in that dark and haunted place.

Im heading to the bridge to find and kill the chupacabra I proclaimed to my friends.

They all agreed to join my Chupacabra hunting gang.

We had snuck home to gather make shift weapons and supplies.

Off with our flashlights backpacks and bats we began our journey.

We had reached the shadow of the bridge and crossed its threshold.

Our flashlights turned the shadows into a different world a maze of abandoned pallets and shipping crates.

Clouds had shifted and the moon reflected on to the nearby river.

Tom had noticed something in some nearby bushes, it was a pair of glowing eyes.

Got'em I had thought to myself. White knuckled gripped bats and flashlights shakily pointed.

A low growl came from the bushes on the other side of the bridge.

Snarling teeth soon revealed themselves but they belonged to a coyote not the beast we were looking for.

I threw my backpack down to the sound of Tim throwing his bat down and running away. Leaving Trina and me to fight for our selves.

Unzipping my backpack to reveal one of my sticks of dynamite.

What the heck said Trina as I popped the top off.

I looked at it confused on where the fuse was, that's not dynamite! Trina snatched it from my hands and struck the top with the lid.

Trina was a bit older than us, her dad was a miner and must've seen this a time or two.

Shimmering Blood red light shot out from it, its not dynamite its a flare she said as she handed it to me.

There we were red light burning between us and the glimmer of hunger and rage that sparked in this feral hounds eyes.

During this stand off something very unexpected happened.

Little coyote pups frolicked into this tense red glow and quickly hid behind there mother.

Mission failed, it was time to go. We made a post haste retreat, there was no chupacabra here only a mother trying to protect her den.

We made it back to base aka the playground in the trailer park. We all unpacked and headed home luckily no one knew we were gone.

I never saw Popeye again. He didn’t run away though my father decided to give him away and not tell us.

We were planning on moving and for some reason that meant all of my memories and belongings were also for sale.

Looking back at that moment as a father of five now leaves me mortified.

Sometimes we learn the hard way that our greatest struggles are not against mythical creatures hiding in the dark, but against life's uncertainties and others' decisions.

The seeds of courage are planted in our souls and it is the water and sunshine of adversity that make them grow.

The lessons acquired and friendships made in childhood adventures become part of our fundamental fabric, shaping who we are.

My compass still only points one way.