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The sun. It blared down on my face as I relaxed on the scratchy black trampoline top. Staring at the treetops, sipping my on my capri sun, even though there was no more juice left to squeeze. It was days like this that made my childhood an experience of a lifetime. The simplicity of seeing the world through a child's eyes, the tenderness of endless laughter as a result of stupid jokes. I missed it all.
“You okay, honey?” my mother asked, as we drove along the highway. We'd just picked up some fast food, but I wasn't allowed to eat in the car so I sat silently- well, as silent as I could disregarding the faint growl of my stomach.
“I'm fine,” I managed to say.
It's not that I didn't want to respond, it's just that I couldn't get it out. Moving from my childhood home just before the start of the new school year- freshman year to be exact- isn't exactly ideal. A new neighborhood, with new people, and a new room. It didn't feel the same.
As I aimlessly wandered in the halls of my home, tiny droplets of sorrow paid my cheeks a visit. They slid down, the edges of my eyes like the start of a super slide. That slide. Green and sticky, hot and yet it never stopped me from dashing up to it and sliding leisurely. The feeling of swinging so high, if I jumped, I’d reach the grasp of angels. We'd twirl on the clouds, soft and kind, making out figures as we go along. This hardwood floor didn't feel that way. It seemed that even my imagination ceased to exist anymore.
"Sun & Rain's Rendezvous" Anastasia Gobot
I made my way outside, laying in my front yard as I gazed upon the stars. It felt somewhat sane again, the blazing light of a thousand suns millions of miles away shone down on me. It wrapped me up in a blanket and put me to sleep.
“Wake up, it's time for school, Vivian.”
This was it. The end of my life. Everything that I’d ever known. Putting in the effort to look presentable in my first day of school outfit was dreadful. Brushing my soft blonde curls, I let the hair sway upon my light pink shirt, it flowed in the wind and moved just right, above my light jean shorts.
“Mom, before we go, can we do something real quick?”
“I don't know, maybe. But make it quick,” she grasped the keys in a hurriedly swift motion, she scuttled along the driveway, ushering me into the car.
Getting out, I felt an overwhelming rush of nostalgia, “Here?” my mother questioned. It was
the trail opposite of the old land strip my former home layed. Walking further and further, my mind cleared, it didn't even phase me that my mother was yelling my name, demanding I come back. But I refuse. I refuse to go back, I’ll only go forward.
We later bought a trampoline of our own. And as I continued to grow, throughout my high
school years at least, I realized that you don't always have to leave things behind. I walk along
that trail everyday, the abandonment that pitted in my chest eased each time I walked past my old
house. I couldn't see the backyard anymore, but I could feel it. The trampoline was smooth and
stayed in relatively perfect condition, but the sun still blared, the treetops still looked down upon
me, and I still squeezed fruity air into my mouth in attempts to savor my capri-sun.
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