I remember sitting on their back screened-in porch.
It was the middle off summer and the cold orange sherbet felt so good sliding down my throat. I remember how it dripped down my chin and the spoon became sticky. Mrs. Glenda always told us how much Mr. Bill liked it. It was the reason she kept it around.
I remember how there were always some roses in a vase on the table. Mrs. Glenda loved her roses. She had them in all colors and varieties. The big, full blooms filled many a vase about her house.
I remember how Mr. Bill would come home from work in the dead of summer. I remember how he would drag his lawn mower out and mow ’till Mrs. Glenda called him for supper.
I remember running through that grass barefoot to visit them. It felt soft and abnormally short to my chubby little girl toes and feet. I remember running across that grass to embrace Mrs. Glenda. I remember how she showed me her roses and we would caress them.
I remember everything. I hope to never forget those memories. I hope I’m like they were.
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