Walked on top of all of the crunchy leaves. Just passing the time with my baby. He was guessing which house was mine when I was little. I remembered the little details I appreciated as a kid. Riding my bike along the uneven parts of the sidewalk that have only risen with the roots. The trees are massive now. I look to the right, tracing my steps home from school. I remembered the forest in my imagination from just two trees, bordering the neatly manicured bushes that belonged to the neighbors I still love.
Rounded the bend thinking of all of the memories. The way I loved her and her beautiful face. I miss her. Now I love to see her grandchildren and children as I see, in them, the pieces of her I loved most. My neighbor who felt like sunshine. I walked up the hill to peek over the fence at the backyard that always seemed so massive when we were young while my son was at his baseball practice not too long ago. I love that porch and how so much of it is still the same, especially the love that exists.
New details are noted in my mind and appreciated. I again, remember riding my bike over the bumps on the sidewalk. I don't know why I enjoyed those so much. As if I were driving a fancy Mercedes Benz over speed bumps was what I imagined. Guess which house was mine when I was little, I repeated so he'd try again. Yep, this one. Do you like it? I ask. Yeah, I love it, he says. I love it so much, I reply. We get to the lower part of the street and I remember that was the place I'd drive my fancy Mercedes Benz into. The gates I'd open with my remote control gate opener, going into and out of the long driveway to our mansion. It all existed in my imagination, when I was really just riding my bike.
I speak for the lions at the bottom of the street. Hey, don't touch my soccer ball, I growl. My baby laughs. He's at the same age as my brother was when we moved onto that street. He goes to the next lion and repeats. I talk for that lion too. The lions are busy protecting their soccer balls. MR laughs and we end the conversation until next time. I talk to an old friend who lives with her family in the childhood home of her husband and I'm slightly hopeful. I think of the gated area of my long driveway to the dream home of my childhood imagination and walk across the street where the gate secretly existed. This is actually the cross walk even though I can still see the gate.
