Tuesday, March 12, 2019 - 2:29am


Annie Klus/Daily

The smell of chlorine and freedom lives sharp in my mind.

I could recreate our bonfire dances for you.


But how can you not remember?

It is as if July slipped away, replaced


by fraying textbooks and burnt ramen soup.

I feel it on the soles of my feet: Pavement.

Burning. Solid. Neighborhood cement and chalk.


Remember this: We pretended we started a tribe of

kid bandits in the woods behind my house. We listened for


deer and tried to drown out the highway. Intrusive in

our fantasies, we knew the snow was magic and would


catch its blare. Do you remember? Frayed size 5 cleats,

Tate’s old Honda truck, cannonballs into icy blue water.


The dream of a generation written into the knees of children.

Time capsules in their grinning cheeks. Our slender youth.


We could hold onto it forever with this memory.

A year etched into minds, frozen in numbers.