Nostalgia

Mom kneaded the dough as dusk fell through the panes. In another time, my sister and I would take chunks of the dough and shape little figurines. Mom would get angry and shoo us away. When I was older, I told her I wanted to help make dumplings with her. It was a lie. I just wanted to play with the dough. She’d look over to my shoddy work, unsatisfied, and then she shooed me away. I never learned to make those dumplings.

I can still hear the sounds of my home from another time. My father snored besides the piano, which my sister used to spend hours practicing. I’d go out to the garden with a stick and whack my mom’s flowers until she screamed at me to do something else. My little black dog would dart around the yard, slobbering. Back then, my mom would tell me how we didn’t have grass. It was just rows of spinach, squash, and cucumbers.

I sat in my backyard. Chili and Roscoe roam about the overgrown weeds. To think we’d say goodbye to this place after so many years. I’d like to invite the sunlight into our home before we go. Though I’m more of a visitor now, I can get stuck reliving those afternoons. When I really try to remember, it’s like watching a reel flash by and then somehow I’m no longer that person. None of us are the same anymore. I’d like to believe better times are coming.

We flew off that ramp the neighbors made. We’d bike down the hill as fast as we could and then we’d shoot off into the air. I really thought I could fly. Then I crashed onto the asphalt. The smell of gravel stayed in my nose for hours.

 

 

 

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alanwrites

I'm writing a novel, but this is for my other projects. Thanks for reading!