I remember the warm sun kissing my cheeks. I remember looking up into the vast blue sky in awe and wonder. I remember pedaling my bike with all my strength, embraced by the pack, moving in unison – a fast ride to nowhere in particular. I remember the long days, the quiet of a suburban tract of manicured lawns and uneven sidewalks. Houses baking in the summer heat. Games and sports and more games and sports and fantasies of living the world beamed into our homes.
I remember laying on my bed and staring up the ceiling. I remember closing my eyes and dreaming. I remember the limits of imagination confined by lack of experience. The edges of the neighborhood feeling as big as a country. The kids the inheritors of a kingdom of toil, bestowed as a birthright of the American dream burning bright in their mind’s eye.
I remember watching the clouds pass across the expanse of summer sky and finding hidden objects of arcane meaning. I remember catching lightening bugs in a bottle. I remember walking endlessly along the edges of the pool to create an eddy then struggling to swim against the current. I remember the push and pull of friendships won and lost, those that stayed and moved away over time. The forces of unconsidered social and financial decisions challenging the equilibrium of relations. So much left unsaid. A protective cocoon of curated information erected to slow the passing of time and inevitability of growing up.
I remember changing. I remember bicycles giving way to cars, the little moments of frivolous joy giving way to a creeping sense of self as an object of wonder and consideration. I remember the long drives stretching the limits of my little world ever further. I remember the feeling of confidence, knowing nothing but sure I knew everything. I remember the feeling of hindsight coloring in the blank spaces of the present. I remember first love and first kisses. I remember pining for a brief moment in the past, then forgetting the thought a moment later.
I remember the times when the weather turned hot and I spent every waking moment outside. I remember my mother calling from across the neighborhood. I remember small anodyne moments of summer coming to my door and opening up to let it in.
GLAZ 