Substance X

That summer we lived in a sandbox. Built castles guarded by plastic army men, Brown cowboy and screaming white Indians. We fought wars with sand bombs and giant hands. Then built them back up again. With cups of water and sand patches. One day we unearthed a different texture. It wasn't sand or clay but was thick and soft. Stuck to your hands. One of the older boys looked at it and laughed. Said it was substance "x". Another barked that it was cat guts. and that our magical sandbox was really a graveyard where stray cats went to die. We went home early that day. Arguing weather or not all this was true. A few days later, deciding that they'd lied. We returned to the sandbox with our plastic armies. I found myself thinking more about substance x and dying cats. Then castles and little plastic army men. A couple summers later we graduated from the sandbox. Over to the baseball diamonds and basketball courts. The substance x boys moved on to cheap beer, cigarettes and girls. I remember looking over at the younger kids. Tossed from their mother's laps. Into the magic sand box world. Building castles ruled by plastic men. Plastic wars raging, just inches above that horrible substance x.