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Chapter 4 THEN

nos·tal·gia

/näˈstaljə,nəˈstaljə/

noun

a sentimental longing or wistful affection for the past, typically for a period or place with happy personal associations.

My mother loves flowers. I hated gardening vegetables, but I adored the small flower bed in front of our house. Our cozy 3 story house.

She'd always make me help pull the weeds from our flower garden. I didn't mind, for I had my neon pink boombox right beside us in the beaming sun that gave us a light tan. We didn't have any pets. We had eachother, and that was all we needed. We never fought that often, and when we did it was always something small.

And sometimes when my mom and I would pull weeds from the flower garden, my dad would turn the hose on, and spray us.

The childish giggles and teasing.

Take me home

Or when I'd be listening to Elvis Presley in my room, my dad would barge in, and pretend to be a rock star. I had this beginner acoustic guitar that was on its stand, in the corner of my room. He never knew how to play it, but when it came to Elvis, my dad magically knew how.

Take me home

Or perhaps when I'd be in a sad mood, because I didn't fit in at school, or I didn't have many friends. My parents came up with ways to make me laugh and smile, and forget all about it. They'd make everything okay. They'd make me see from a different point of view, and sometimes I thought;

"Is this really worth being upset about?"

Take me home

I miss when we'd goof off at the skating rink. My dad taught me how to play hockey, and how to skate and shoot. My mom never had an interest in hockey, but when I was on the ice, so did she. She'd be stuck to the boards, while I was with my dad scoring my first goal.

Take me home

My mother would sit on the end of my bed, while I sat crisscross on my carpeted floor in front of my large mirror which was put on the back of my door. Next to the baby blue wallpaper with sunflowers and daisies, she'd brush my hair, and give me advice. We would goof around about boys because it was the weekend, and I never got invited to sleepovers. We'd paint our nails, and give each other makeovers. I never knew how to do one, until my mum taught me.

My mum had always been my best friend.

She even bought me makeup from the store. Not the cheap kind for little kids, because she saw me as a little more mature than other kids. I was only 15.

Take me home

Or when it would rain, I'd be the first one outside fully prepared. I wore a light pink raincoat, and matching rain boots.

I didn't care if my hair got wet, because that was the best part. I would splash in puddles, because it's never a bad thing to act like a kid. To have a little fun, because I didn't have a single friend. Only classmates I'd talk to at school.

I didn't care about the neighbours watching me from their windows. Let them watch and see how much of a fun person I am.

I loved the smell of wet trees. The humidity relaxed me. It made me calm, and I wondered how beautiful life can be and all that it is.

Take me home

I'd ask where we'd be off to, and sure enough they wouldn't tell me.

"It's a surprise, darling."

We drove around until my father stopped at a field full of flowers. My mother lay a picnic blanket down on the grass near the flowers. The smell of dandelions and other wonderous things made me wonder.

"What a beautiful thing."

Colourful butterflies not only flew around us, but in my tummy as well. The serotonin made my cheeks hurt from smiling. That cheeky, happy feeling.

Take me home

Take me home

Take me home

I just want to go home