The Rock (a short story) written in 1992

This is a short story I wrote about an experience my big brother Terry and I had when we first moved to Bountiful, in approximately 1965.  I wrote it up as a short story in 1992 and submitted it as a first attempt for a class I was taking in writing.  I was hoping to become an author of children's stories at the time, but I only wrote a few stories before I got too busy doing daycare and watching my own kids grow up.  The next few stories are what came of the attempt to write for children.

The Rock

     "There's nothing to do here," Ralph grumbled, as he scuffed his sneaker into a rock, sending it scuttering across the driveway.
     Lynda, his little sister, followed behind him quietly.  They had only been living in the new house for a few days.  At first there had been a lot to do.   Running around the empty rooms had been great fun.  Their voices had echoed in the emptiness.
     They had explored the new yard.  It had seemed wide and empty, like the house.  Only one small tree on the side lawn interrupted the smooth green grass.
     Nothing was really the same here.  There were no big trees to climb, no fields, or ditches, or polliwog ponds.  The traffic passed the driveway with a swish, swish, swish; proof enough that no such places existed in this town.
     Ralph wrinkled his freckled nose and stuck his tongue out at the passing cars.  "Yuck," he said.
     Lynda sighed.  "Maybe we'll see another ambulance," she said.
     The two children walked over to the sidewalk near the road.  Mom called it "the busy street."  It had two lanes of traffic going in each direction, and it seemed like it was always full of cars.
     Lynda lay on her tummy on the cool strip of grass between the sidewalk and the road.
     Ralph stood at the end of the driveway and kicked rocks into the road with a sharp quick motion.  They felt lonely and out of place.
     Suddenly Ralph bent over and picked up a rock.  He looked at it.  He could throw a rock farther than any of his friends back home.  He could throw a rock and hit a can in the empty lot behind the old barn, or skip it four times across the polliwog pond.  Where could he throw rocks now?  No place.  Now Ralph felt funny inside--like there was something squeezing his heart.  His eyes got misty, and the cars blurred together, as he gripped the rock tightly for a moment, and then threw it into the stream of passing cars.
     CRACK!  For a moment the children were frozen in place.  Then they ran--ran to the other side of the house and hid behind the corner.
      Peeking around the corner of the house, they watched in horror as a car slowed and turned around.  It turned into the driveway and a man got out and walked to the back door.
      He knocked.
      Dad answered.
      The two men talked for a moment.
      "Ralph!" Dad called, "Come here."
      The children emerged slowly from behind the house.
      Ralph felt sick.  He could see the crack that snaked across the top of the car's window.
      The man from the car looked sternly at Ralph.  He told the children that it took a lot of money to replace a car window and that it was tricky.  Windows didn't always fit right after they'd been replaced.  He said Ralph was to blame so he'd ought to make Ralph pay for it.
      Ralph swallowed hard, "Yes sir," he said.
      The man paused.  He put his chin in his hand and slowly rubbed his thumb across his jaw.
      Ralph looked at his feet.
      Lynda looked at the man.  She looked at Ralph.  She saw dad.  He looked worried and sad.
      The man cleared his throat.  "Well, he said, "I reckon I'll see if that crack gets any bigger before I decide what to do.  I don't like the idea of a rattle you know.  If they can't get the new one in right it'll rattle, that's for sure.  I know where you live if I decide different."
      The man got back into his car.  He drove away.
      Dad knelt down on one knee and put a hand on Ralph's shoulder.  He looked into Ralph's eyes.  He seemed to understand somehow.  "You know," he said, "sometimes when you feel sad and hurting inside, sometimes you feel like you might get even by giving a hurt back.  But it doesn't really work, you know.  A thoughtless act most times leads to trouble.  An action taken in anger always brings you shame."
      The lights on the cars were beginning to come on.  Dusk was settling in.  Daddy held the children quietly in his big arms for a while.  No one said anything.  Then they walked slowly into the house together.