More Memories

It's summertime. The grass is green and smells of earth worms. The scent of cut-grass tickles my nose but makes me want to inhale deeply. The tree frogs buzz and hum in their jovial banter. In the distance a Blue Jay releases an angry tirade.

My brother and I are at the curb, kneeling on the concrete gutter between the boulevard and the tarred street. We make car sounds with our mouths, sputtering and tooting as we push Matchbox along intricate streets.

We have carved roads in the boulevard grass, long and winding topsoil paths that we cover with leftover sand from the previous winter. The roads arch into thinning avenues that abruptly end at a parking space--that "person's" home.

We can play like that for hours, barely registering the pebbles digging into our already skinned knees. The business of life goes on around us as we create lives in the dirt.

Heather!

I jump a little, so engrossed as I am in my game. I look up and smile as my grandfather saunters toward me.

Wanna go for a ride?

I'm up in an instant taking only a brief second to brush the gravel from my knees. I clamor into the front seat of the mammoth brown LTD and grin eagerly at this man who always has a twinkle in his eye. He tweaks my cheek and makes a goofy noise with his lips as he turns the key in the ignition.

The engine fires and he pulls the car into gear. The car eases into motion, the wheels carrying us on our ride.

A moment later the car stops. We are in the garage. The ride is over and hearing grandpa's merry laugh is worth the price of being the butt of the joke.



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