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High grass in the gloaming

August 15, 2011

Dusk and the smell of prairie grass reminds me of my blue, fish uniform-wearing days; exhausted and smelling like batter days; tight black jeans, hair down to my lower back, tying shirts around my waist ‘cuz I like the sway of shirt-tails around my hips; long sharp finger nails painted glittery blue; my no-kaajal, just lipstick days. Pink and yellow tie-dye t-shirt I made myself.

Saturday night Little Ceasers pizza. Ambassador West and making too much noise with my cousins. Avid (insaitable) reader of Nancy Drew, Three Investigators and Stephen King (no Hardy Boys, no Sweet Valley High). We always found treasures and dead bodies when we went exploring (the word we used) in the nearby woods.

Indiscriminate lover of libraries, easily seduced by the sound of quietly rustling pages, the smell of old (books, furniture, people), the collection of romance novels in the back. I used to know the Dewey-Decimal system.

Tetrus. Mortal Kombat. I am always Sonia. I draw digital blood and it pleases me. I believe I am a warrior.

I don’t think I have ever snowsled with a trash can lid since that one time way back then. I also made snow angels. And at least one snowman. I played basketball late into the night. For a brief period of time (never to come again), I had a love for frisbee golf. Out of breath, running around the soft tar race-track at night felt like we were breaking rules (even though, we weren’t really). Surely, no one is supposed to be at high school after dark. Can this moment last forever?

With surprise, memories not all bad.

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