The Sister Hangout

April 11, 2018
By Anonymous

I often think back to my summer, childhood days, and relish on my favorite things.  As I think about what I enjoyed doing and where I enjoyed going, I seem to reimagine what was once one of my favorite places.  My sisters and I used to go to this location as it made us feel free and at piece.  This place was on top of my house, and an occasion there typically played out like this:


I perch on my roof, where there is a metal bay window outside of my sister Katrina’s room.  It is a hot summer day with rays of sun beating down on my golden skin, in 2012.  My sister Alicia climbs onto Katrina’s unmade, queen-sized bed, and crawls out of the open window to wear I sit.  As she makes her way onto the hot aluminum, I hear the metal make a popping sound when her weight pushes the bay down.  Katrina surveys us from the end of her bed, where she sits on her pink sheets and brown comforter.  I am only 10 years old, and Alicia 14, so she is making sure we don’t tumble off the 1 by 2 ½ feet wide resting place, just barely big enough for two small people. 


I am wearing jean, Bermuda shorts and a purple, cotton tank top; my hair is pulled into a high pony and thin bangs drape over the tops of my eyes.  Katrina’s pink iPod Nano plays 2000s’ Hits, and chickadees chime in with their chirps.  A slight cool breeze whispers in the air, making the vibrant green leaves swoosh all about.  A soft blue sky lays above me, scattered with cotton like clouds.  I am facing my front yard with a birch tree and two walnut trees that go many feet higher than where I lounge.  A large, green walnut falls to the ground, as a brown squirrel chases after it to crack open the shell.  Past the trees, is a slight hill going up from the ditch that leads to the road, running parallel to my house.  A car whizzes by on occasion, usually with its windows down and music blasting in the summer air. 


I gaze down to my right, onto the asphalt driveway, and see my brother coming out to play basketball.  I hear the pound of the ball, so familiar to me from the years I’ve watched my siblings play.  The bounces are followed by the thud of the basketball hitting the backboard.  Sometimes a crisp swish from the ball going through the net is heard.  Laughter echoes in the air, as my sisters and I watch my brother attempt to dunk on a hoop 4 feet taller than him.  With the sounds of our voices, follows my dog Franky.  He trots across the freshly cut, green grass, coming from the backside of the house.  I knew he was coming from the clanking the tags on his collar make.  Soon, Cole is greeted by Franky’s playful smile and prance, while he too tries to play with the basketball.


A car’s roar is heard getting close from the West.  The pitch soon gets lower, telling Alicia and I it is slowing down.  Being the only house on the right side of the road, we know it is my mom arriving in our tan Chevy Van.  She nor my dad, wants us kids sitting on the roof, because of how steep the actual shingled part is.  Since my parents don’t want us on the wide window sill, we have to bounce into action.  In the midst of rolling off the platform and dropping onto my sister’s bed, I am aided by Katrina tugging on my shirt to quicken my escape.  Alicia follows right after, just in time to see my mom pull into the drive way from inside of Katrina’s bedroom, not the roof.  I hear the crackling of pebbles across the driveway, as the heavy vehicle slowly makes its way to the garage. Shortly after the van goes out of sight, the purr of the engine comes to a halt and the time spent on the roof, waits until another day.


Today, now that my sisters are off in college and doing bigger and better things, I don’t relax outside Katrina’s window like I used to.  Instead, whenever I walk by that window or look up at it from the driveway, I am reminded of the fun I had, in one of my favorite summertime places.  Although I no longer go to this location, I can always cling onto the memories I made, in my “sister hangout” spot.
 



Similar Articles

JOIN THE DISCUSSION

This article has 0 comments.





MacMillan Books

Aspiring Writer? Take Our Online Course!