I remember

A remembrance of times passed

I remember the cornfield near my house. I would walk through it with my sister during the summers, when we were both out of school. I remember the hundreds of rows of corn, all green and verdant and waiting to come to life. I remember how my sister would walk in front of me, because she was older. That was her excuse. She would walk proudly in front of me for a while, making exaggerated movements. Almost like she was a soldier. She would do that until we got to the middle of the cornfield. And then she stopped her high and mighty act and looked back at me occasionally to make sure that I was keeping up with her. She was strong, I remember. I wasn’t around when my parents were at their worst.  But she was. And she was alone. And that’s where she grew from. I remember. I remember that there was only one time when I walked through the cornfield without my sister. And that was after the tornado. I remembered then, walking along the worn dirt path where she would step. Where she would jump over a puddle. Where she would pick up a suitable walking stick. I remembered the jokes that she would make. The stories of school and the gossip that she had been storing up all year. I remember imagining what she would talk about then. She would talk about her daughter. She would joke about how she didn’t need no man and how she was happier alone. And she would do that for the first half of the walk. She would be a soldier again and put on her strong mask and act as though she was in control of the world. But I remember, that as we passed by this lone bush of flowers in the middle of the path, she would change. She would feel alone. She would feel like she couldn’t make a difference in the world. And I remember hating myself for thinking that she might have been right.