I remember pricking my finger on the neighbor's cactus. Crying like any five-year-old in pain. Rushing home so mom could put it in a cup of water, then me it would be alright.
I remember exploring that messy room like it was a dark cave. Dolls mixed with cars coated the floor. To us they were snakes and bats trying to keep us from our journey. We wouldn't let them.
I remember those school hallways. There was a teacher named Brown. Playing alone, I loved chalk. Separation happened then.
I remember the court. I couldn't bike or skate like the others. Bouncy balls and jacks. The best fun of the day. We played until sunset.
I remember breakfast with her and him. Before the ride to school. Cereal was my favorite. It is still at my house now.
I remember the party. Glow sticks, Sleeping Beauty, and forts. Playing pretend. The coat that was left. It is still at my house now.
I remember, my childhood friend. The neighbor whose mom took us to that school, and who owned that mean 'ol cactus. The one who like cereal and pretend as much as I did, but who had a different recess. You left that coat at my house during my sixth birthday party, and I never saw you again.
 Alatria · Tue Dec 05, 2006 @ 04:20am · 1 Comments |
