January 28, 2011
"La La La..."
I skip down the sidewalk to the park that is about half a block from my house. My 6th birthday is in 3 days, and I'm not allowed into my playroom, so I have nothing else to do.
I finally reach the park and scramble up the hill to the sandbox, where I am usually queen. But today is different. There is a little boy sitting in the sand box building a castle. I sit down next to him.
"Hello. I am making a castle. Wanna help me?"
We play until the sun is sinking low in the sky. Now, it is tyime to race home and wash up for dinner.
"Meet me back here tomorrow and we can finish," he shouts over his shoulder.
I meet him there everyday, up until my 16th birthday. Sometimes, we built castles, others we would just sit and talk. That boy was my first best friend, my first boyfriend, my first kiss. Then, on my 16th birthday, he didn't show up.
I checked back everyday after that for a year. He was never there. Finally, I gave up on the boy.


I'm 27 now. I was married to a wonderful man, but he passed away a few years ago from a car crash, just down the street from the old sandbox. I have a daughter of my own, who is almosty 6, and she looks just like I did at that age. I take her to the sandbox everyday, at about the same time everyday. Sometimes old habits die hard.
One day, we go, and there is a little boy, about her age building a castle, "Hello. I'm building a castle. Wanna help?"
I look up as those familiar words hit my ears. Then,I hear a familiar voice, "I used to know a little girl who looked just like you when i was little."
He smiles at me, and says, "Wanna build a castle for old times sake."


I'm 37 now. So is he. The boy I fell in love with at 6 years old, is now the man I fell in love with at 27. He is also the man I will love forever.

I smile as I close the journal, slowly falling apart after 50 years of opening and closing. The bindings are breaking, the pages worn thin, the ink smudged, but I know the story so well I could tell it in my sleep. I kiss my granddaughter's forehead goodnight, and leave her bedroom. I close her door, and slide to the floor, my back against the wall.

A single tear slides down my cheek as I remember her grandmother that warm summer day almost 70 years ago, when we built a castle together.

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Prof J. Tilley Ph.D. said...
Feb. 1, 2011 at 10:15 am
I really enjoyed this. I think the plot is beautiful and can be developed into a more elaborate story. I encourage you to do so. One thing that could be improved upon though is clarifying who the narrator is. Perhaps you could say "I smile as I close my wife's journal." I think that would help the reader understand right away that the man is talking, rather than having to look at your comment on the article. -Jessica Tilley, Ph.D.
KatreenaMarie replied...
Feb. 1, 2011 at 3:56 pm
Thank you. I was thinking about rewriting it anyways. :D
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