"The other day I drove past the old place that we used to play at. You know, the place across the river and before the forest starts, the old gazebo where we'd spent all our days in the summer. You had freckles back then, and the kids at school would tease you about the way your mom cut your hair.
You liked to be called Jude back then. Not because it was your name, but because you loved The Beatles and insisted on it. Do you remember that?
We used to spend hours pretending the gazebo was a boat and all the grass and trees were water. If a car drove past, it was a pirate ship and we had to defend ourselves with our stick swords and keep our treasure of snacks safe. Do you remember that?
Do you recall that one night when we both decided to run away? We were mad at our parents so we took backpacks and sleeping bags and set up camp on the wooden floor. Everything was great until we heard a coyote in the woods and we ran back home. We were both grounded for two weeks after that.
One summer we pretended the gazebo was a church and you asked me to marry you. I wore a white tutu and you had on an old top hat that you dug up from your dad's closet. We decorated the gazebo with wildflowers and I wore daisies in my hair. Our dogs witnessed our awkward first kiss and you told me you'd never love anyone else. Do you remember that?
The gazebo is older now, much like us. The paint is weathered and the steps creak. It reminds me of your wrinkled smile and our creaky bones. It has a worn in look to it, and the grass has grown wild around it. What once was young has grown deep roots into the ground and flourished with time.
I think it's grown even more beautiful with age."
- B. L. S.
No comments:
Post a Comment