Childhood Memories(Prose)

(Prose)

The backyard was bare. Not necessarily bare of trees or plants but bare of memories. The past had been erased this yard, which was once a fiery pit of lava, meant to be crossed on the back of our Labrador, the fearless dragon, what once was the castle in which I waved my magic wand was now a ragged, forgotten house.

I look around this yard and see the party hats that the dogs refused to keep on at my puppys first birthday party. I see my friends and I sprawled in the wet summer grass dreaming up our next adventure. I see ripe tomatoes and cucumbers in the luscious garden my mom created.

I can still see her there, her coffee colored curls hiding her face as she planted new seeds with fresh soil. Her voice, calling me in for dinner after a long game of hide and seek, still echoes in my ears. I can still feel her hug after I scraped my knee roller blading. She wiped away my tears and encouraged me to try again. She was always there to pick up the pieces.

I walk inside the house and remember the delicious smell of banana bread being baked. My dog is barreling through the house again, knocking down everything in his path. My dad is watching TV on the couch next to my mom. She gestures for me to come sit down. My excitement wears off as I fall to the floor and realize there is no couch there. No sign of any life whatsoever, yet I can still feel it, see it, touch it, smell it, hear it, desire it.

I picked myself up off the ground and walked away from a place that held my memories. I once again left my childhood behind at 636 Laura St.