Trailblazing

Every day I'd walk those sidewalks, that familiar eight tenths of a mile. Down Walnut, up Lake, right turn at Glassboro Road to Asam. Across Glassboro Road up Asam to Academy and the school. Each and every square of concrete was known to me. Some heaved up from tree roots, others cracked every which way so that it was impossible not to break your mother's back. Some so cracked and shattered that you could kick big chunks of them out of your way, and others made of gravel and stones.
I'd walk the grate at the dam wall of the lake, the water rushing down on its journey under the street, falling into the creek on the other side of the road.
I knew every house and a lot of the people who lived in them. Some of those houses were my friends; the Avis' and the Olsens' and the Gerbers' homes smiled to me every morning, familiar and inviting. Others were not so friendly, behind their doors lurked some of the boys who'd like to taunt or tease or punch me in the nose.
Mrs. Price's house was ominous; it squinted at you from beneath its cloak of dirt and vines and trees.
There were other homes of people whose children I knew but nothing else about them. I had no idea if they were happy places filled with love and warmth like mine, or if they were sad places filled with anger and with worry. I noted them every day, their windows staring back at me, indifferent strangers, and I just a passing reflection. These homes were my landmarks,my mileposts marking time on the trail.
First Avis and Olsen,past Price's woods, the journey just begun. The danger zone of Lucas and Burgess, eyes on the alert, my pace quickened. Mulin,White and Fleisch, then Trackie's store and past the lake,almost halfway. Up Lake Avenue past Patton and Quinto to the Nichols' and finally Glassboro Road. The Voldish house and Tommy Moore's meant almost there. You reach Asam and Mr. Blorn the crossing guard for the last leg to school, past homes that had no names.
I walked a steady pace to class,with purpose,my father's voice reminding me to always be on time. With lunch box in one hand and my schoolbooks in the other I marched,in weather both good and bad. On really bad weather days I could ride in style with the Gerbers in their big car, or with Mr. Olsen and a chance to hear that wonderful Norwegian accent again.
The walk home was always lighter, a little quicker, with time for adventure and staring at the clouds in the sky. I could be an explorer come home from the sea or a line of soldiers on the march, eager for battle. There was time for broad jumping as many squares of sidewalk as I could, for skipping stones at the lake and peeling the bark off the trees. Sometimes Whee-Zee would meet me halfway, and the walk became a run. On the days I rode my bike, I was a blur in the windows,and in seconds I'd be gone.
We all marched our march on different paths,in wind and snow and sun.
From Clearview and Poplar, Chestnut and Oak, Glenwood and Fairview and Elm.
We marched in groups and some in pairs and single souls like me.
To school we marched to merge as one, marked by window panes and trees.