Ollie Ollie Oxen Free!

Ollie Ollie Oxen Free!
by Eugene Mathena

The summer of 1981 clung to the small mobile home park like a warm blanket, thick, fragrant, alive. It was evening, the time when young boys delayed bedtime with just one more game, one more inning, one more kick of the ball. The sun had long since melted behind the trees, leaving streaks of amber and purple hanging low in the sky, and the air was full of the smells only a Virginia summer could conjure, fresh cut grass, distant charcoal grills, the smell of Southern BBQ and the earthy musk of cooling pavement.


Lightning bugs blinked like silent strobes across the park lawns, each flash a tiny call to chase, to laugh, to live.

In the hush we hear,

“C’mon, Eugene! Kick it to the woods!” Ducker shouted, barefoot and breathless.
Eugene grinned wide, teeth stained with chaw baccer against his pale freckled face. He backed up, eyeing the red rubber ball with practiced intent. Around him stood the usual crew: Ducker, Davey, DeWayne, L.J., and Bobby. All of them about ten or eleven, tan from the sun, scuffed knees, and bellies still full of Kool-Aid and bologna sandwiches.

He charged and kicked, the ball soared high, brushing the fading sky, and they hollered, all of them, as it bounced off a distant swing set.

The game was everything: a reason to stay outside, a reason to run, to be young. They laughed like boys did then, when time was long and summers never seemed to end.

But time did move on.

The year now 2060.

The sound of the ball faded, replaced by the hum of fluorescent lights and the soft murmur of machines. The smell of cut grass gave way to the scent of oxygen. The chirping of crickets was drowned out by the clatter of carts and the rush of hurried feet in rubber soles.

Eugene, now well into his eighties, sits confined in a hospital chair.

Rain fell steadily beyond the window, streaking down in shimmering rivers, while outside the construction crews across the street curse and shout as they scrambled to cover machinery and retreat from the summer storm.
The world spun on. But inside, Eugene drifted.

He watched the rain, but he never did see it. Not really.

He was back in that park, back on that field. He could still hear Ducker’s voice. Still see Bobby’s grin as he did karate moves in between kicks. Still feeling the sting of barefooted sprints across gravel and grass.

Those boys were all gone now. Some moved away. Some buried young. Lost to health and others to living hard and yet another, taken in an act of violence. But in Eugene’s mind, they were still out there in the dusk, calling for him, to come and play.

A nurse walked by in a hurry. Somewhere down a hall, a patient moaned for the last time. Code blue called over the speaker. Eugene didn't notice. A tear rolled from his left eye, slowly carving its path down the wrinkled map of his aged face.

And then…
There was Light.

It began as a glow at the base of the door to his room, subtle, golden, like lightning bugs bunched together in a mason jar. The door creaked open slightly, and a small face peeked in.

It was Bobby, ten years old again, his hair a mess, dirty t-shirt, eyes full of mischief.

“C’mon Eugene,” he whispered with a grin, “Ollie Ollie Oxen Free!”
He turned and ran.

Eugene blinked, and then, he was standing.

Not old, not broken, but young again, strong, shoeless, alive.

The door to his room opened to that same field those boys always played, damp with twilight dew and this time, glowing with the light of a thousand lightning bugs. The boys were waiting. L.J. was bouncing the red rubber ball. Davey and DeWayne stood mischievously by the trailer steps, laughing. Ducker whistled and pointed at the open spot on the team.

“Bout time you showed up,” Bobby chuckled, tossing him the ball.

They played into the night, boys again, the sky aglow with memory, their laughter echoing beyond time, beyond space.

As morning's first light crept across the field, the six of them stood in a circle one last time. No words. Just knowing.

And then, peace.

Back in the hospital, Eugene's body sat still. The machines slowed. The nurses stepped in quietly.

Outside, the rain stopped. A single beam of golden sun slipped through the clouds.

Eugene had crossed over. This time, an endless member of the team.

Somewhere, somewhere out there, beneath the endless summer Virginia sky, the game was ongoing. The boys were together.

And the call still rings out:
“Ollie Ollie Oxen Free!”