4.20.2015

Selected Memories.









I remember playing tag at recess and giving the boy I liked an Indian burn. I thought it was love. 
I remember sitting in laundry baskets while my dad pushed me around the house.
I remember the Fourth of July and the Buttler's house. My mom had short hair, and so did I. We were twins. 
I remember hiding in the corn rows of our garden pretending I was lost in Africa. You could always see me and I always told you to pretend you didn't.
I remember showing you how to kiss. We were laughing so hard. 
I remember making blanket nests. I was 5 and you were 7. We both wanted to be birds. I was a blue one and you were purple. 
I remember waking up and wising my eyes never opened again.
I remember the first year you said, "This was going to be our smallest Christmas." 
I remember you said I must be the smartest girl in my class because I knew how to spell the word, hospital. 
I remember selling candy on the street. Everything was melted. I remember lying and saying it wasn't. 
I remember when my dad slapped me. I was making an egg salad sandwich. 
I remember the first time I made out. 
I remember when I liked Pokemon but didn't tell anyone.
I remember making pancakes in the basement because my sister asked me to. I hid the griddle in my room for weeks. 
I remember when my brother got suspended because his friends dared him to go in the girls bathroom.
I remember when all the girls asked me if I wore a bra or not. 
I remember when the worst word I knew was crap.
I remember meeting at LP pond. You were shaking so bad. I borrowed my brothers bike to get there. 
I remember being alone. I remember how real it was.
I remember sitting at the cemetery and wanting to talk out loud but being too much of a coward to do it. I left my mittens there on purpose. 
I remember when we watched the Magic School Bus for science.
I remember listening to Death Cab for Cutie the summer of 2012. 
I remember the first time I snuck out. We went to sliding rock. The water was freezing. 
I remember when you told me you could hear me crying at night. 
I remember when $100 was a lot of money. 
I remember having a crush on my cousin and feeling very nervous about it. 


I remember less than I probably should.

Just this.






There’s something thrilling about children with gold hair. They calmly, simply, merely, wait for something remarkable in the making. Hands cupped into binoculars, looking through child-hood eyes, they’re dripping with youth. Fragrance of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, spill from the roof of their mouths; and roll over the tops of their teeth. Honey sweet magic on their lips; thick like melted chapstick. Endless summer days, lined with crooked teeth and sun-kissed bare legs. Skin burning red.  Hair gold and long, with those fingers gold and strong. Waiting for mother; chasing butterflies. Facing laced lies. Scanning for spies. Planning for the prize. Covered in skies, fries, supplies and allies.