062110282007
I once lived on a 16th street but moved to Partridge Avenue.
I once lived on a Partridge Avenue but moved to South 70th Street.
I once lived on South 70th Street but moved to Norman Way. It was a faded, wheat-yellow house with a brown top like a safari hat. Its legs dug deep into the ground biting into the earth stubbornly like a child. Like a child too, it was smaller and louder than the others around it. With inexcusable rips at the knees and scabbed over elbows, it reminds me of myself. I am Ben, and I am my own best friend. My little sister is Ashley and she's only 5 years old. Her favorite room in the house is the kitchen because for her it's like playing in the mud. We go to the same school, and we walk there and back together every day. On days when it's cold though, we walk there backwards facing home and walk home facing the school. We didn't like snow and wind in our faces, and it makes the trip seem shorter because we watch the place we left shrink out of sight. She was my next best friend.
Ted lived in the basement. A cold dark place that was hard from broken pipes. Ted was five years older than me and always looked out for me. Growing up with an older brother is like playing in the shade of a tree. We'd play mud football down at the park through the sunn-filled months. Mom never appreciated us coming home looking like two black snails, but for us, it was a right of summer passage.
Eventually, the mud was baked and the ground returned back to cold and hard.
Eventually, Ted left home when Mom and he couldn't be nice to each other.
Eventually I was forced to be a big brother tree and help protect little Ashley's play.
I once lived on a 16th street but moved to Partridge Avenue.
I once lived on a Partridge Avenue but moved to South 70th Street.
I once lived on South 70th Street but moved to Norman Way. It was a faded, wheat-yellow house with a brown top like a safari hat. Its legs dug deep into the ground biting into the earth stubbornly like a child. Like a child too, it was smaller and louder than the others around it. With inexcusable rips at the knees and scabbed over elbows, it reminds me of myself. I am Ben, and I am my own best friend. My little sister is Ashley and she's only 5 years old. Her favorite room in the house is the kitchen because for her it's like playing in the mud. We go to the same school, and we walk there and back together every day. On days when it's cold though, we walk there backwards facing home and walk home facing the school. We didn't like snow and wind in our faces, and it makes the trip seem shorter because we watch the place we left shrink out of sight. She was my next best friend.
Ted lived in the basement. A cold dark place that was hard from broken pipes. Ted was five years older than me and always looked out for me. Growing up with an older brother is like playing in the shade of a tree. We'd play mud football down at the park through the sunn-filled months. Mom never appreciated us coming home looking like two black snails, but for us, it was a right of summer passage.
Eventually, the mud was baked and the ground returned back to cold and hard.
Eventually, Ted left home when Mom and he couldn't be nice to each other.
Eventually I was forced to be a big brother tree and help protect little Ashley's play.