I’ve always felt like everything was just the slightest bit brighter in my neighborhood: the sun stayed suspended above and never seemed to set until I had exhausted my time outside; the grass maintained its luscious, emerald feel and emitted the aroma of peak summertime, and the air cleansed me with the crystal-clear sheen of a radiant, glowing smile.
Even at night, our block continued to beam brighter with the luminous cadence of comfortable laughter.
Countless hours were spent frying in the exposed daylight of the pool next door where our tan lines marked memories on our skin left to enjoy even in the winter months. No thoughts were put into the design of our swimsuits, nor our bodies, as our goal was to rough house and leave pockets of sunshine in the crinkles of our laugh lines. We knew our time was coming to an end when the adults to the side began to yawn and the sunset turned the water a dark, purple hue. Our fingers pruned, we washed the day from our skin and left with some of the most well-rested nights.
The house across the street held multiple wonderful friends who came and went as they pleased, tired from the raucousness of our neighborhood. The most recent owner bonded personalities together through our family’s exchange of ethnic dishes and favorite pastimes. Midnight ping-pong tournaments held no real meaning as our sleep-deprived minds couldn’t hold room for competition. Gatherings there ended up, without fail, hunched around the dining table, set on winning our favorite board games that always finished with the tablecloth stained from tears of laughter.
Another house was known for its abundance of unforgettable end-of-the-school-year parties. Their backyard often held the last light of summer nights as people flocked to join in the fun. Parents gathered on the patio large enough to hold the memories being traded and shared while the kids dispersed through the shadowed lawns making too much noise with their simple games. The firepit burned in the back, majorly unattended to after kids stood in line to dispose of folders of unneeded homework, empty cans, and wrappers being the only evidence of the entertainment the next day.
A couple of houses away was where I was treated like the adult I always wanted to be. I recollect every so often about our times together spending away the days driving around town, always ending up feeding our free hours at Sonic, watching the cars sail by, and filling the air with our meaningless conversations only to lapse into a relaxed silence. But people at Sonic haven’t seen my face for years. I suppose it’s because I struggle to find the sweetness in their food like I did before.
No thoughts were put into the design of our swimsuits, nor our bodies, as our goal was to rough house and leave pockets of sunshine in the crinkles of our laugh lines.
Down the street lived a woman I endlessly strived to be. My introverted soul complemented her larger-than-life personality that I could never seem to get enough of. Her happiness was heard from down the block, and in her presence, a permanent grin was etched into my face that sought after her endless humor. I held onto every joke she made and always hoped I could make her laugh as much as she did for me.
Next door provided the opportunities I needed to prove myself in a working environment. I was the first to lend a helping hand with household projects in exchange for the stories and useful tips I gained. Our combined labor fueled many presentable products, and I never once was in the working mindset or looking for a way to make money; I simply enjoyed her company.
It was the house behind us that was the closest to a second home for me. Though I was one of the youngest kids in the neighborhood, it was never noticeable as our personalities flawlessly combined. Memories of Fourth of July preparations—such as painting our nails patriotic colors and having the traditional American barbecue—and days of doing nothing at all encapsulate what our summers meant to me.
However, there was one house that continues to provide me with something more beneficial than these memories ever did. I still spend countless days lending a hand in her garden, helping to run her garage sales, or sitting in her living room and hearing her recall her life. After the years of daily visits, I’ve expected a trail to have formed between our houses, marking the countless steps I’ve taken and the countless ways she’s supported me with her alternate perspective.
Throughout the years of the neighborhood growing up together, people spending more time in school, and finally moving out, very few things have remained the same: I rarely find time to swim anymore, people have come and gone with emotional goodbyes, and our Fourth of July parties lack the same anticipation I remember. But, there is still an unspoken level of support between everyone.
So, I guess our neighborhood still does shine bright.
Just not with the warmth it used to.
