The Trophy

At sometime during the last week of October 2010, I noticed that some (presumably) kids tossed a pumpkin of respectable size up on a road sign, just down the street from my house. "Why would someone do something so stupid?" I thought to myself everyday, as I passed by the spectacle on my way to work.

Soon autumn turned to winter and the ground was blanketed with snow, and still this pumpkin was stuck to the top of the road sign. Weeks before I'd noticed that a second pumpkin was placed on another sign, up the road, closer to my house and on the opposite side of the street. I doubted that it was placed there by the same mischievous teen, as it lacked the same style and conviction as it's predecessor. That one failed to possess the longevity that the first had and fell from it's perch when the mercury fell below freezing. However, the first pumpkin, continued to hold tough.

The winter months passed late in the spring, and still the pumpkin continued to stay atop it's mount, overlooking the street, almost like an appointed protector. It's orange skin, now bleached white from the constant exposure to the sun and elements.

Here we are now, mid-June, and still the pumpkin continues to stay. City workers have passed it by many times, when mowing the grass on the meridian or cleaning the streets. And although I was bothered by it's presence in the beginning, I've found myself looking forward to viewing it every morning as I pass by it on my way to work. I now view it as a term of endearment, and often wonder if the young bloke who placed it atop that street sign, looks upon it with the same pride as I've come to do.

I don't look upon it as an eye sore anymore, but more so as a trophy. It reminds me of one of my life long goals. It seems silly to admit, but I've always wanted to go to Stonehenge in Scotland. Not to view it as a historical enigma, but I wanted to defile the sacred ground of the site by having "relations" with a female. Not sure who, exactly. I suppose a local waif would be fine, although I believe it'd be better to share an experience like that with a girlfriend, fiance or (who knows) someday maybe a wife. Then we could look at pictures of Stonehenge from that day forth, and relive the experience and memory with a sly wink and a smile. A personal trophy, so-to-speak.

It'd be great to look at a photograph and while others ooh and aah in wonderment at it's mysteries, me and "the mrs" would know a completely different secret that the stone megaliths silently hold.

Maybe that's a little different from what the kid who spiked the pumpkin might be thinking, but the one commonality is: "I did that!"