The Sunday Short & Sweet: Concrete Proof

Let me tell you a Tori Story.

First, I need to disclose that I did not coin ‘Tori Story,’ but rather it’s my dad who owns any copyrights to the phrase. Just had to clear the air.

Now. Onto my story. I’ve mentioned before that I was a bit of an obnoxious child. And I always had a way of getting myself into the most random mischief– nothing too bad or dangerous, just…weird. Today I felt like sharing one of my odd childhood predicaments.

One of my best friends while growing up was a girl who lived just a few houses down the street. Her name was Leigh-Ann, and we spent many an afternoon wandering around our neighborhood getting into, well like I said, random mischief.

One afternoon a 6-year-old Tori (I think I was 6? Maybe 7) and her friend Leigh-Ann found themselves in the backyard of a man who lived nearby. Vestal was an older gentleman. How old, I’m not sure, but to a 6-year-old, he seemed about 100. I’m not sure whether or not Vestal was home on this particular afternoon because we were only in the backyard for a few moments- just long enough to do something odd and mischievous.

A wheelbarrow filled with bags of concrete mix caught our attention. Why two 6-year-old girls would be so fasctianed with a wheelbarrow full of bagged concrete mix, I will never know. We began poking the bags, wondering what was inside and why they felt so weird. In an instant before I even knew what my hands were doing, I ripped open one of the bags and began stuffing my pockets with the dark gray powder. Yes, you red that correctly- I was shoving concrete mix into my pockets.

Apparently it seemed like fun because Leigh-Ann quickly followed suit. A few minutes passed and two little girls stood together, clothes covered in dust, pockets stuffed. Right at this moment, it began to drizzle, and I heard mom yelling from our door, “Tori, time to come home!” And then it hit me- I was going to be in trouble.

Leigh-Ann and I parted ways, both heading home. Approaching my house, I saw that my mom wasn’t outside, so I had a chance to empty my pockets and get rid of the evidence. At the time, my parents’ 1995 Chevy Blazer was parked in the yard. Being a child, obviously the SUV was taller than me. It was beginning to rain harder, so I had a brilliant idea: “I’ll stand behind the Blazer, that way mom can’t see me if she comes back outside. I’ll empty my pockets and let the rain wash off the dust.” Wow, I was smart!

Except I wasn’t smart enough to stand behind the wheels to make sure they’d hide my feet. I stood right in the middle. After a couple of minutes, mom’s head poked back outside to call for me again. And of course, she saw my feet. I don’t remember exactly what she said, but I do remember being shocked that she knew I was there. “I’m hiding, how can she see me?!”

I was promptly dragged inside with a “Tori, what the hell is in your pockets?” and put into the bathtub. I don’t remember anything else my parents said, and I don’t think I was punished too badly. Because it wasn’t that mischievous. But in those moments, hiding behind the Blazer, praying for the rain to fall faster and wash away the concrete residue, I just remember thinking I was going to be in so much trouble.

Ay yi yi. Like I said, random mischief. Hey, I was just being curious, right? 😉