The Seasons

May 25, 2010
Their names are forgotten,
They remain in the past,
Reaching out and calling,
Hoping to never be forgotten.
Childhood memories.
I remember the chain link fence that divided my yard from theirs. They had a pool that was surrounded by little bushes with great hiding spots amongst the prickly branches. I remember the story she told me about the boy who drowned in the pool, and I believed every word she said.
The first time I met the girl, she wore light jeans that were too small, a pink windbreaker and her orange hair was cut short. The freckles on her face made her look like she belonged on a farm somewhere. I could picture her wearing overalls and petting a cow. I remember her cute older brother who always wanted to hang out with me, but I always thought that was because he and his sister were really close. I never realized that he wanted to hang out with us because he liked me.
Her mom made the best lemonade, but I always seemed to be called back home as soon she brought it out for the three tired kids who were lying in the grass and watching the clouds. When school started, I visited my dad less, which unfortunately meant I got to spend less time with her. I remember coming back on the weekend and watching her and her brother swim in their pool as I was trapped in my room, doing my homework.


I remember sitting in my room, watching them attack each other with snowballs and building snowmen in their backyard. They would wave at me to come down, but my mom hadn’t packed my snow pants, so I couldn’t go play.

I remember trudging through the snow that was up to my knees to walk over to their house so her brother could finally teach me how to snowboard. He had promised me he would. I stood on their front steps and rang the doorbell; she answered with a smile on her face and a homemade hat on her head. We talked for a couple minutes before her brother came outside just to tell me that he was sick. She told me that she would teach me, even though she wasn’t very good. I told her it was okay, my step-mom was making tomato soup so I should be going back. I remember trudging back through the snow, feeling upset that he hadn’t kept his promise, then feeling bad for being mad at him for being sick.


I remember they couldn’t hang out much because they had to pack their things in big brown boxes.


I remember that one magical evening when the lightning bugs were out and the summer Olympics were on. Their parents sat on the cement patio with the TV sitting on a cart that they could wheel around. We lay on the ground, our chins in our hands, admiring the sprinters as they made another lap around the track in record time. I remember their dad asking me what my favorite Olympic sport was, and I told him figure skating. They laughed and told me it would be four years before I could watch them skate again, but I just smiled and told them four years wasn’t that long.

I remember we got bored watching the racers run, so we decided to have a race of our own, one that even the best Olympians wouldn’t be able to finish in record time. We had a race to catch lightning bugs and play hide and seek at the same time. I remember I was the one to try and find them, and I had already collected three lightning bugs and I couldn’t wait to show him. I remember when I found him; he was hiding in a little cave of bush branches holding onto a lightning bug with both hands. I remember him telling me he wanted to show me something, and when I got close enough to see what he was hiding in his hands, he kissed me on my cheek. I let the lightning bugs go on accident, and his sister found us hiding in the bushes, so she decided to join us, but he left as soon as she shimmied in.

I remember going home at nine o’clock at night and having to explain to my dad why I had scratches all over my legs and arms. I told him we made up a game that the best Olympians wouldn’t be able to do, and he just laughed and drowned me out with his guitar.

I remember skipping to their house and ringing the doorbell. I remember staring at the girl who answered, wondering who she was and what she was doing in their house. She told me they had just moved in, and I didn’t believe her, but I decided to play with her anyway.

I remember how upset I was that they hadn’t told me they moved, and I remember crying in my room and watching the new family unpack the boxes that cluttered the living room.

I’m still upset with myself for being mad at the girl who had moved in to my best friend’s house. And I’m mad at myself for forgetting the names of my two best friends after all those nights we had spent together running around and chasing frogs late in the night.

To this day, it amazes me how important someone could be to me at one point in my life, but then when I try to remember them years later; I can’t even remember their names. But I do remember the more important things about them, like those days we spent sitting around the pool and gossiping about the boy who drowned, the days that we wished would never end.

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