It’s the early 70s and I’m a little bit, with tiny braids that stand like trees in my hair. I run, skip, play in the mud, and buy bags of candy for a quarter that the grocer promises will rot my teeth. I have a bike with a banana seat. I ride like a Queen until someone steals it. Then I walk. I walk for country miles down city blocks in the hot, humid Chicago summer air to the place where the whole city meets — the Point. Bongos drummed, swimmers sun on breaker rocks, picnics and the Good Humor man in his white truck, selling frozen treats for a buck. I jump in, the water is cold, but I float until the sun meets the edge of the world. Swimming home.
Copyright © 2011 Kimberly Yarbrough Carpenter
Music suggestion: All Day Music by War
Movie suggestion: I haven’t written it yet.