for someone from my childhood.

letter seventeen of a thirty-day challenge. this one's for my first two friends.

having lived in california until i was seven,
and then moving to virginia beach for one year,
and then living in chesapeake for the rest of my life,
my childhood feels scattered.

i don't remember california all that well.
i remember palm trees lining the streets,
and listening to shania twain with my mom.
i remember the ben & jerry's on a corner,
and i remember the two boxers next door.

i remember two people, too. mostly, anyway.
there's you, jacob. and you, kayla.

jacob, you were my first real friend.
our families were inseparable,
we lived right next door to each other.
we were inseparable too.

i remember digging around in the garden,
that we quickly turned into a mud bog.
i remember you having chicken pox,
and our moms letting us play together.
[funny, i didn't get it until i was nine.]

i remember watching you crash,
all the blood on your dirtbike and face.
i remember visiting your school...first grade.
god, two years seemed like such a huge difference.

i remember throwing you a softball,
and you missed it, and got a bloody nose.
i think that was the first time i felt guilt.

but most of all, i remember that game.
with the dinosaurs, and a big field,
and an even bigger maze inside.
and, of course, your room.
your twin sized bed, and the huge bean bag.
even then we couldn't close the door.

we received your pictures for a long time.
so i feel like i might recognize you on the street.
but not for who you are, really. more of a...
deja vu type of thing, if you will.
i miss you, distantly. but deeply.

and kayla, well.
what i remember most of us...
is the purple jewelry box full of notes.
because you were always grounded.
then i think about making mud pies,
as we sat on the fence between us.
and...unfortunately, that one night.
the raid, and not seeing you again.
hiding the notes, until they stopped.
i think you gave me my first broken heart.
but it's okay, i forgive you. it stopped hurting...
oh, about ten years ago. i think of you, though.
i hope your parents cleaned up,
and i like to think you're happy.

you two represent my innocence.
my childhood. thank you.
i miss it so very much.