Memories

[Westerly_2]

T%his could be a place to remember old times in a vivid way. I could start with which friends from your childhood do you most remember? But anyone can change the prompt.

[Westerly_2]

friends from childhood:

 

Joanne was a mean girl who called the shots and excluded gi8rls from play on a whim.  You always remember your meanest "friend." One time the other girls -  Big Judy, Little Judy, Theresa and i - decided to call her on her game. Ask her to play and then all run off and ditch her to teach her a lesson. Final monent, old Wersterly felt sorry for her, but w still ditched her in the hollo9w where we were to act out a movie.

[Bmichael]

When I was nine years old, I was convicted and pulled chain at the Kentucky State Penitentiary in Eddyville.

My friend was named Frbm – he was a lifer. I never knew what he was in for, but it must have been pretty bad.

I remember sitting in the yard – me and Frbm – on those long, sweltering, summer afternoons, sipping lemonade and frantically licking vanilla ice cream cones before they melted under the hot Kentucky sun.

[Westerly_2]

quirky as ever Bman!

[Kristina Lunde]

Kevin ate crayons and paste as part of his nutritional supplement regime. I remember his multicolored sticky smiles, his 11 brothers and his one sister Holly. Holly had her own room and the 12 boys slept in one large room with 6 bunk beds. They lived down the road from us.

Kevin's mom was dark and slender as was his father. They were very much in love, or maybe just very tired. Kevin's mom would rotate kitchen chores so each child would have special time with mom, even if it was just doing the dishes together.  

[Westerly_2]

"very much in love or just very tired," I like.

[Westerly_2]

            I walked in the carpeted woods with my cousin Diane – the pine needle awning hushing the air and the pine needle floor sponging our footsteps. She pretended we were the first humans to set foot there, and then picked up candy and gum wrappers and laughed about them.

“Junior Mints,” she said, holding the box up by a corner.

It was only four years later she married a sailor and moved far away from her mother and the dance recitals and cocktail lounge gigs and the whack of the cane against her bare legs during practices at home.

Her first child was “ awfully premature,”  my mother remarked to a sister of hers, her eyebrows lifted like arrows pointing something out.