childhood favourites
bruised knees,
Year 11, Day 213
We meet somewhere between your home and mine. You’ve smeared black paint all over your face because the night is dark and your skin is not. I laugh at you, but that doesn’t change the fact that you’re really serious about that paint on your face.
“It’s my mom’s!” you tell me, and I know the paint is black eyeshadow.
We both know that there are some things that just need to be done at night. Like painting your face black.
We make our way through the neighbourhood, passing dark houses and sleeping parents. There’s no mischief we’re not up to. There’s no fence that could possibly stop us.
“You should have painted your face black too! If we get caught, it’s your fault!”
I punch you. Hard.
“If we get caught, it’s because you’re stupid!”
You punch me. Not really hard, because after all I’m a girl and you’re a wimp.
We finally reach our destination and hide behind a car. We do somersaults to get from one hiding spot to the other. My knees and palms are bleeding.
“Got everything?”
I nod eagerly and empty my backpack. Some of the eggs are already cracked, and the raw egg yolk is scattered all over my bag. But that’s okay. We knew that there would be casualties.
You stuff all the eggs into the blue mailbox. I take out a spray can and hand it to you. You climb over the fence, tiptoe through the front yard, and with shaking hands you start to leave your message.
As soon as you jump over the fence, we start to run as if a horde of starving cannibals were chasing us. We finally reach my house. You hand me my backpack. I nod at you, you nod at me – mischief accomplished!
And for three weeks there will be a house in our neighbourhood. With a pretty white fence, a lovely garden with cherry trees, and five words spray-painted all over the front door:
“Professor Mayer is a goat!”
Year 3, Day 91
They tell me I’m a sister now. They tell me I need to take care of my brother now. They tell me I’m responsible for another life now.
They just don’t tell me how.
Year 17, Day 1
It’s 5am. We just left my birthday party. We’re walking through the sleeping city, leaving traces in the fresh snow. Alex is telling weird jokes and laughter fills the air. You place a soft kiss on my hair. I’m holding your hand.
It’s 5:05am. We’re running through the snow. I’m laughing so hard that I can barely breathe. Noah slips and falls. I’m laughing even harder.
It’s 5:10am. Instead of taking a cab, we’ve decided to walk home.
It’s 6:05am. Covered in snow, I unlock the door. While you make us tea, I’m searching for warm clothes.
It’s 6:15am. I’m trying really hard not to fall asleep. My head’s resting on your shoulder while you read the second chapter of Oliver Twist to me.
It’s 6:18am. As I’m falling asleep, I am pretty sure I’m the luckiest girl in the world.
