Day: March 9, 2022

We danced like fools in the rain. Everyone we knew was invited. Nobody cared. We wore our wounds and food upon our shirts like they were a badge of pride. We ran, we kicked, we chopped and we cried. But mostly, as I recall, we laughed and played outside. Things were different then. The streets seemed wider, the buildings taller and more mysterious. We walked for miles, and then rode on the handle bars when we couldn’t keep up. Bikes littered the front lawn and the garage doors were dented from slap shots and missed catches. Those nine weeks away for summer felt endless. Hot, cruel and endlessly empty. It wasn’t until the nineties that we adopted air conditioning. The basement was our refuge. As we got older and kids moved away, or died, or disappeared along with a divorce, we didn’t pay much mind. And nobody cared. So we knocked on doors and asked to play outside some more.