Making Memories This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine.

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   I sit here at Grimes Field, and I'm having a pretty good time. I sit here and talk to all of my close friends, and we chit-chat about times gone past, times to come, and of course, today.

It occurs to me that this is the time to "make a memory." I want to be able to tell my children the stories we told that night, about the secrets and good times, about me.

I use my senses to take in everything. I don't want to just remember, but relive that night. I smell the autumn air, old grass, the late evening dew. I taste the moisture in the air and the vague after-taste of my menthol cough drop. I hear Jim's hysterical laughter, the reee-reee of the cicadas, the occasional grunt of a frog, Mindy's voice, the birds saying good-night to one another, and the sound of the exhaust of a random car passing.

I feel each blade of sharp over-grown grass prickling my ankles and arms like a thousand sharp knives in a magic trick gone wrong. I feel the wet dew falling on my body and making me cold in the autumn night.

I feel at peace.

I see the thousands of millions of stars stretching forever, only disturbed by scattered clouds and the silhouettes of an immense amount of trees. I see Jim's silhouette at the very edge of my peripheral vision. I see fireflies sharing their light for an instant and then winking out, never to be seen in the same place.

This is "making a memory" that I try to do it as often as I find something that I really want to remember. I will remember this night, and will probably relive it, every time I hear the reee-reee of the cicadas, or smell fresh dew, or stare at the stars, taste a cough drop, or feel the over-grown grass on my ankles, which means I did it right. I "made a memory." c


This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.






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