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Let me Steer!

Sometimes the grownups who wanted us dead weren’t even alive themselves:

One afternoon as we were heading home from the library, Cheerleader’s front bike tire picked up a nail. We dropped her bike off at a friend’s house, she climbed on my handlebars and we continued on our way. As we neared the cemetery we had a discussion about whether we should cut through it or not — it was starting to get dark. Cemeteries are all fun and games in the daylight, but at night there were actually graves about. Graves are full of dead people you know. And dead people don’t like children.

Quilly is the pseudonym of Charlene L. Amsden, who lives on The Big Island in Hawaii. When she is not hanging out with Amoeba, she is likely teaching or sewing. Or she could be cooking, taking photographs, or even writing. But if she's not doing any of that, she's probably on Facebook or tinkering with her blog.


  1. Bill — As I haven’t started the book — don’t hold your breath yet.

    Morgan — the bike survived. The front tire was a bit egg shaped, though.

  2. Oh, my, sister! You do bring back the memories. I have lots of stories about that cemetary….most, better left untold!

  3. Now I remember! What I remember is that I DON’T remember any stories like this from my childhood! I know I DID stuff! I can remember playing on the rope swing over the creek – and I remember ridin’ bikes and go go dancing in my white go go boots — but I don’t remember detailed STORIES! I think it’s great that you DO – and that you are getting them all down on… cyberspace!!!

  4. Melli — my childhood plays like a movie reel in my mind. To write my stories all I have to do it roll the film — and occasionally rewind and roll again.

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