Memories

I remember the first time I was allowed to ride my bike to the ice cream store without my older sister.  The summer air that I broke through as I reached unimaginable speeds down the enormous hill. 

I remember the way back.  How the blacktop driveway seemed so far as I struggled to push my bike back up that enormous hill.

I remember how I liberated myself of that bike helmet.  Older kids did not wear bike helmets.  But the meanest mom on the street told on me for that helmet hanging on my handle bars.

 I remember playing our favorite invention in the basement to desperately escape from the blistering summer sun on Wedgewood Drive. Dark crawl tag was the best game ever.

I remember my grandma coming over to watch us.  Somehow, she had the ability to make the best mac and cheese, and put just the right amount of Jiff smeared over Wonder bread.

I remember my stupid school uniform that I always wanted to get out of.  It was as if I was a total outcast when I road the bus with all of the public school kids.

I remember finally being a cool eighth grader.  I also remember the fake tan that my friends and I "secretly" acquired by walking to CVS.   Streaky, orange skin is never in style.

I remember feeling alone when I walked into an entirely different atmosphere.  I wore the school uniform, but never felt pride for those letters written on my blouse.  

I remember spending everyday at the hospital that summer.  The drops that left my mother's eyes carried the feelings of failure and disappointment and shoved them in my face.

I remember the chaos that was always present within the walls of our house.  The friends of my brother and sisters that sometimes seemed to pack up and move in.

I remember that town that appeared so boring and desolate for teenagers.  Maybe we would not have made so many of those mistakes that resulted from straight boredom.

I remember leaving the only home I had known for 18 years.  The surprise I felt when I actually did miss Chesterland, Ohio.

I remember returning to that blacktop driveway.  Seeing what seemed to be a stranger stumbling through the doorway each night at 10, and the other on the couch too sick to try again.

I remember those long, lonely days in another strange atmosphere that I despised.  Once again, trying to figure out where to go.

I remember those endless conversations.  I never realized how much comfort one voice can send from miles away.

I remember that I will always miss those covers in that tiny room and the smell that somehow remains within the walls.  I need to grow up and learn to let go of that home.