I felt the cool wind weep my hair around as I stepped out into the cool night air. The last winter snow was still melting on the trees and I began walking down the sidewalk toward home.

People around me were laughing and talking as I crossed the street to Boston Ave. Taking this way home, didn't seem that strange except for the sense that I was being followed.
I stopped for a second and bent down to tie my shoelace. Stalling like this gave me time to servey the area.

"Alison! Wait up!" A voice called out and I turned at the sound of my name just to see a child running with outstretched arms to her mother.
The wind cut through my brown trench coat and I held it tighter around my waiste.

I walked on and passed a little boy sitting on a park bench. He sat with his hands stuffed down in his pockets and had on a brown felt cap. He saw me pass by and called out in a small voice.

"Excuse me Mame," He said in a horse whisper. "Can you help me find the way home?"

I turned and stared at him. With the light from streetlamp I saw the fiery glare of his blonde hair. It was shaggy and cut a little below his ears.
"What?" I asked and stood with my hands in my pockets.

"Im lost. My mom said she'd come back for me but she never has. It's so dark and Im scared to walk alone. I have a flashlight, but I think it's broken," He said and handed me the flashlight.

I gave the yellow flashlight a shake and the light shone dimly. I shone the light at the young boy and my heart lept in my chest.

The same blonde hair. Blue eyes. Serious gaze that made me swallow hard. He looked just like him. I was scared and my hands were shaking, but I held on to the flashlight. For my own protection.

"My mom will be worried about me. I need to get home," He said and slowly took my hand. I felt strange walking with this small boy but I felt he needed me.

"Where do you live?" I asked in a shaky voice. My nerves were going haywire and my heart was pounding.
"Get a life. It's just a coinsedence that they look just alike"

"I live on 77th St. Number 130," He said and gave a raspy cough, that sounded like death.

Holding this small boys hand I felt my own palm grow sweaty. We walked along in silence until we got to 77th St.
"Thank you mame. What's your name?" He asked and I jumped from the sudden sound of his voice.

"Alison. Alison Shaffer," I replied and he let go of my hand.

The boy suddenly stopped walking and looked at me.
"My dog's name is Alison. But she died a few day's ago. She was hit by a car," He said and looked down at his feet. By the streetlight, I thought I saw a glint of a tear fall down his cheek.

"Im sorry," I said sympathetically. "What's your name?"

"Jordan. But my parent's call me T.J," He said and took my hand again. We walked on until he stopped at a brightly lit house with the front door wide open.

"I just to have a friend named Jordan when I was little. He was allergic and got bit by a rattle snake. He died when we were 10. He was my best friend," I said and felt my voice crack a little.

"Im 10, my birthday is in March," He said just as his name was called from the front door. "I gotta go," He said and turned to run off.

"Thank you Allison!" He called and I felt a tear run down my cheek. I made it back to my apartment that was just a few blocks away. Luckily the streets of Tulsa are very well lit at night, so I had no trouble getting home.

The next morning, I was driving around the neighborhood of Jenks and I started down the street that I had been the night before. I stopped the car a little ways down the street of Jordan's house and gasped suddenly. In the front yard was an old rusty house rental sign that looked at least 10-20 year's old. Beside the sign was a wooden post with a white piece of poster paper stuck to it.

The sign took my breathe away when I read the faded red letters. "Jordan Hanson Memorial Monument Home- 1984-1993"

I felt my stomech churn and I did a double take at the letters. "It can't be true." I thought to myself as I stared at the sign. Suddenly a car honked it's horn and a man told me to more out of the way.

I parked my car over to the side and got out. I went over to the sign and ran my hand over the red letters. Just then a stout woman about 45-50 came up behind me.

"Excuse me. Can I help you?" She asked and her voice made me jump.
"Uh...I was just wondering how long this home has been in service," I asked and looked at the woman.

"It's been here for 15 years. Since the little boy died. Mr. and Mrs. Hanson had to sale the home and move away. They thought it would be best to make it a funeral home to remember Jordan by. Did you know him?" She asked and peered at me curiously.

I wanted to back away from her stone gray eyes and I began to feel dizy.'None of this made since. I was sure that I had been with the boy the night before and this was his real house.' I must have swayed a little cause the woman put an arm out for me.

"Are you alright honey?" She asked and I nodded quickly not taking my eyes off the sign.

"Yes. Im fine," I said and was able to get back to my car without fainting. I sat behind the wheel for what seemed like hours because when I opened my eye's and saw a group of kids roller blading outside their house.

"I have to get out of here," I said and started my car. 77th Street was cursed. Or maybe I was. I couldn't tell, but I just knew that that I would never go done that road again.

....

"It feels strange now, as I think back. I've moved from Tulsa and am living with my sister in California. I havn't been to Oklahoma since the day I moved my thing's out here to L.A. I don't really remember what the house or neighborhood looks like now.
It's even amazing that I don't remember the name of my own street and apartment number. But one thing is certain. "I will never for get the face of the little boy in that house, the night I walked him home.
On 77th Street."