- Summer Guide
- College Guide
- Author Interviews
- Celebrity interviews
- College Articles
- College Essays
- Educator of the Year
- Personal Experience
- Travel & Culture
- Current Events / Politics
- Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking
- Entertainment / Celebrities
- Love / Relationships
- Movies / Music / TV
- Pop Culture / Trends
- School / College
- Social Issues / Civics
- Spirituality / Religion
- Sports / Hobbies
- Community Service
- Letters to the Editor
- Pride & Prejudice
- What Matters
I Remember the Brick House
I remember living in the brick house. Whenever someone asked where I lived, I would say “The apartment!” Mom would correct me, saying that I was wrong. I forgot what she called it, but I remember the times we had there.
I remember running up the long hallway, the carpet smoothing my tracks. I had my big wooden toy-box, the one that is now in my brother’s room. It was filled to the top with fake fruits, dolls, blocks, and the occasional article of clothing. The purple box that was dotted with white hearts was home to my dress-up collection. I remember dumping every toy out, playing with each one, and the putting it back. I remember telling Daddy that I wanted to play supermarket. Every rubber food would line the living room while Spongebob played nonstop on the TV. After everything was set up, I decided I didn’t want to play anymore. Dad was left to clean up while I contemplated the next activity.
I remember the old lady downstairs yelling whenever I ran around.
I remember having to take the dreaded ear drops after my surgery. Homework would be completed with a nervous hand, then the cool liquid in my ear. It felt like a witchy finger running into my brain. I would be granted with candy for being a good girl and not screeching, however.
I remember one time when I are a whole package of M&M’s, each morsel stuffed in my incapable mouth. Mom got mad.
I remember hiding under the coffee table or behind the spinning chair whenever Dad walked through the door.
I remember being cautious around the green cabinet that held the calavera figures, bright pinks and blues against the skeleton.
I remember running up the steps to Fran and Fred’s to play on the drums with each of the sticks. I would feed their stuffed animal bunnies stuffed animal carrots. They would collect them for me at every game at the feast or the casinos in Atlantic City. I remember when they gave me the princess towel to me for my birthday, and the red jacket that made me look like Elmo.
I remember when we sat on the back fire escape, dropping Pinocchio leaves. They would twirl like a dancer, softly touching the ground. I remember reading on that fire escape as the sun set.
I remember the boys from next door coming over to play in my pink princess pool. They would tell me all about the dreaded grade of kindergarten.
I remember the neighbor having a pig roasting on his grill in the backyard, the eye glistening in the sun.
I remember the faded scarecrows and plastic flowers stuck in the pot on the terrace. They felt smooth under my fingers as I sat on the bench Mom painted.
I remember running down the block to visit my grandparents, who would greet me with a present of some sort, either a hug or a cookie. Both were equivalent in value.
I remember the bins full of shampoo bottles, our supplies suddenly ready to move on while I was flipping through the pages of my book.
I remember bouncing the handball on the blank wall, right where the TV was a mere week ago. I remember wanting to play with my toys, but they were in their respective boxes marked with my name.
I remember moving from the brick house, to my new home, to a new world.