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Wednesday, June 21, 2023

"Don't Mess With The Seagulls"...An Old Man Foster Story


 "Let me tell you something, sonny," the old man said, his frail finger shaking as he wagged it in our young faces. "You don't mess with the seagulls."

My friend Steve snickered, almost making me bust up, too. But, I kept it together. The five of us straddled our bikes. I still don't know why we stopped at Old Man Foster's house, a broken-down structure marking the point where the paved road ended and the dirt road began. 

But we stopped for some reason and Old Man Foster came out to shout at us...again.

"I'm serious, man," he said, a drop of spittle rolling down his unshaven face. "You boys think you're smart chasing the seagulls on your little bikes, but let me tell you--you'll be sorry if you do."

I looked at my friends, their twelve-year old faces looked back at me, as if they wanted me to be the group's spokesman. I shrugged my shoulders. I had no idea what to say.

"Mr. Foster, we weren't chasing any seagulls. I mean, they can fly--there's no way we'd catch them." I thought my answer was a good one. It made sense to me.

"That's the problem with you damn kids," Old Man Foster said swatting his hand as if dismissing us with a simple wave. "I saw you riding--I see you everyday riding your bikes up and down this street like you own the place. I've even seen you ride across my yard."

I looked at everyone to see if that was true because I knew I had never done that. They all shook their heads. When I turned back around Old Man Foster's eyes blazed fire and hate.

"Oooohhh yes--I seen you, and I know it was you. You chasing all the animals, cats, dogs, squirrels, all of them. You don't think anyone sees you doing it, but I do. I see everything."

I didn't know if we should just hop on our bikes and peddle away, but I wanted to know why he was yelling at us and why this man who must have been close to ninety-years old was worried about seagulls.

"Mr. Foster," I said. Thinking back I tried to be sincere. "We weren't trying to catch or mess with the seagulls, really." Old Man Foster didn't seem impressed. Then I got a little snippy. "And even if we did, why is messing with a couple of birds such a big deal anyway?"

Foster sighed and shook his head. He then stared us down with a look that sent a jolt up my spine. "You mess with the seagulls, you'll be sorry. No joke. When you see a flock of them birds flying, you don't follow them, you don't even look at them. If you do, there's nothing but bad luck--and I'm talking evil--things are about to happen. I've lived on this earth long enough to know what I'm talking about. You listen to me and listen good--you don't mess with the seagulls."

He stood before us on those frail legs, slightly swaying left and right. He looked at each of us to as if daring us to betray his authority. None of us spoke. I looked at my friends. Steve rolled his eyes, but I knew he was all talk.

"Okay, Mr. Foster. We'll turn around and stop messing with the birds. Thank you for telling us about them. I...we didn't know what would happen. Thank you."

We turned our bikes from his house and started peddling away.

"Man, that old fart don't know anything," Steve said. I agreed, but something in the back of my mind gnawed at me. What if he was right? I thought it was stupid to mess with birds...we never could get close enough to do anything to them...

But, what if he was right?

I didn't say anything to Steve, didn't say anything to any of them. We just all went home. I didn't find out until later that Steve left his house after the streetlights came on and rode past Old Man Foster's house on his bike. I can only imagine he was flipping off Old Man Foster the bird as he passed. 

They found Steve's bike the next day, but they never found Steve. He disappeared. The police asked each of us if we thought we knew where he was...we didn't know. They even asked Old Man Foster, or so we were told. To this day, that look on Steve's face when he rolled his eyes haunts me. 

Years ago, I moved away from my home town, but every few years I'd return to visit my parents and friends. The dirt road is paved and lined with homes. Old Man Foster's shack was demolished a year or two after he shook his boney finger at us and warned us of the flying evil that awaited us if we messed with the seagulls.

It's something I never did again in my life.



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