by Nadia Brasil
I remember when my friends and I were playing in front of my house running after each other, playing catch. There was a place in front of my house that was only dirt, no house built on it, so we ran there. “Hey! Look what I found!!!” “What?!” “What?!” “What is it?!” “A gigantic frog!!” “Ewww!!” I remember it was cold and all the girls were grossed out to see this huge frog. One of the boys picked it up and wanted to take it home.
But I don’t remember the sound of my friends’ voices as we played catch. I see vivid images in my mind but it is like a video cassette playing on mute. The images are clear but no sound, the sound of laughter or their goofy jokes, their ideas of how we will build our own tree house. Their voice is not as clear in my mind as the voice of my friends now-a-days. I only have a faint memory of how my best friend sounded on the phone the last time we spoke. It makes me realize the things I left, but also the good memories that I made with them. Also, I realize that life goes on. I feel like those memories are a hallway I walk through with many pictures on the wall and vivid images that play as I pass by and stop once I don’t remember anymore.
I miss my childhood, when I didn’t have to worry about much. Just being a kid was enough, when I fell and hurt my knees I knew I could run to my parents and they would take care of it. I miss just being that kid that ran to Natalia’s house to play or just hangout. I remember that every other week I would come home from my friend’s house with a scraped knee. I felt like I was a tomboy because I would play in whatever the boys were playing. I would just play any games my friends were playing, girls or boys. This is what I remember from my childhood in that neighborhood.