During my high school years, the end of the school year signified many things. Freedom from homework. Late night walks with my sister and my cousins. Dreams of summer flirting and romances that never actually happened.
I never had the chance to miss the smell of paper because I loved books. I would lay on my stomach on the tan carpet of my living room and devour Dorothy Keddington’s adventurous romances. I would make up stories and write them in my notebooks in the cool security of my basement bedroom.
The outdoor community pool would always open Memorial Day weekend. My cousins and my sister and I would walk to the pool almost every other day and spend hours goofing around. I always came home starving, foraging in the fridge for leftovers from the dinner my mom had made.
And now I’m craving leftovers from my mom’s fridge.
