Thirteen Steps and Fried Apple Pies I had a problem getting to school on time. Regardless of what I did, I was fifteen minutes late each morning. I had to walk about a mile or so down the road, across the short cut by the Webbs and through the woods to Rowling's Holler. I usually ate breakfast on the way. Mom made the best fried apple pies. I guess they are called apple tarts or something like that now. But anyway, This morning was no different than all the others, I was running late again. Sure I was embarrassed by it. Staying after school and writing on the blackboard had no effect. Mom would say her part and add, "go ahead and screw up and let old Maude kick you". In other words, "screw up and pay the price, usually where it hurts." And on this morning, those words took on a new meaning. I hadn't noticed that we had one of those freezing rains over night. Those thirteen steps going down to the road were covered with this near invisible clear ice. I went running down the walk with a fried apple pie in each hand. When I hit that top step, my feet went straight out and my rear bounced down each of those steps one by one. I held on to those pies with arms flapping straight out from my body and I probably looked like a little mallard learning to fly. In any case, the pies survived except for being squeezed a bit. I was a little later than usual that morning, with a sore rear but with a full tummy. I was just glad no one had seen me.