The Man Across the Street

Photo by Bibin Tom on Unsplash

The man across the street is kind to the kids in the neighborhood, especially the boys. This is a nice neighborhood. There’s green grass and dandelions that we pick for our mothers and plenty of honeysuckle to sneak and eat. There are also ant beds that we avoid and enough grass to play kickball and baseball and hide go seek and make believe. Summer is our favorite time of the year. We push each other around in a shopping cart that someone was brave enough to steal from the grocery store a few blocks away. Its wobbly and one of the legs is permanently twisted. It feels like a roller coaster and the sound is like the clinking of silver and pocket change. We skate and ride our bikes up and down the street. All the homes have a front yard, maybe a back yard depending on its position, and at least three bedrooms. The houses don’t all look alike. They are different colors and made of different materials. Our house is brick but some have vinyl siding. Some are nicer than others. It’s not the ghetto by a long shot. There are mothers and fathers and kids. It’s working class. Adults work in the daytime until the evening as we roam our street and the surrounding streets, going in and out of our houses to get water, use the bathroom, or eat.

I am seven months pregnant, so I find myself dreaming about my childhood sporadically and fondly. The life inside of me is growing bigger and bigger and so is my outlook…