OYM: Lullabies & Memories
I can remember driving around the boonies with my friends, passing a joint with the windows rolled up, music playing and the sky turning orange. We’d fly down those roads and pass the landmarks of our weekly trail. The dogs that barked and chased our car the length of the fence, the dome shaped house, the nudist colony trailer park (a real thing and we eventually got the code to enter), and a million dilapidated barns.
And of course there was corn, and then soybeans, and then corn again.
There were big subdivisions and acres and acres of woods. An old man would let you throw parties on his property if each car put $5 in his mailbox. We’d dump out half a 2 liter of Mountain Dew and fill the bottle back up with vodka and a pack of kool-aid.
Before that there were camp outs in backyards, sneaking off with all of the toilet paper in our homes to get revenge on school bullies. There were movie nights in basements that forever smelled of burnt popcorn. There were hours and hours of memorizing dances and coming up with our own. AOL chats and crowding around a computer as big as a pickup truck.
There were piles of bikes in front lawns, piles of shoes at front doors, and piles of kids on a trampoline.
Before that there were talent shows on the front lawn. Agonizing over Halloween costumes and counting candy bars. There were monkey bars and swings that touched the sky. There were summers of watermelon and shucking corn. Mooning cars and slip n’ slides. Walks around the block with a bowl of raw brownie batter. Cops and robbers. Ghost in the grave yard. Snow days.
Before that there were long rides in a hot van. Playing shoes with my sisters. Waking up at 7am to watch cartoons. Eating an entire box of cereal in one sitting. Dreaming of becoming an actress. Roller skating to Elton John in the garage. Feeling different.
Before that doesn’t exist in my mind anymore. My earliest memory is swinging a wet wash cloth between my legs on our driveway. There was music but I don’t remember what.
It’s funny how I couldn’t wait to run away from home as fast as I could when I turned 18…and at 35 I am still searching for a place that replicates the same feelings I had growing up there.
If I think hard enough I can see my street, feel my bare feet on the sidewalk, and taste the humidity in the air. I can see the lightening bugs and hear the crickets and I wonder if the phone is ringing. It could be for me.