Memory a Short Story ...


Memory a Short Story ...
Memory a Short Story ...

Memory - a short story

Walking outside to get some fresh air, as I inhale the air the smell of fresh homemade tortillas took my breath away. As I sniff again I notice a smell of baked goods. I soon remember this Sunday morning was a day of the feast. The motoring sound of a lawnmower starts up in a distance, the big field where kids would play is getting cut. Then silence appears to me, Grandpa picking pecans from every pecan tree on every corner to bring over later. A loud roar of a horn right next door, coming from the passing train. Beeping, mini cars honking their sound to the train coming to a halt. Looking straight ahead I see Grandma sitting there on the rocker enjoying the morning rise of the sun and spring winds. Over to the slight left, I hear Daddy laughing because Grandpa said something historical, as I take a peek they are working on the van with screeching brakes that mimics the sound of the train on the tracks.

A ball of fur suddenly ran by, and one rubbing against me, the running fur was a dog named Boots. The fur rubbing on me was a cat named August. Sitting there on the outside steps enjoying this Sunday morning looking around, I approach the backyard of Grandpa and Grandma's. I smell spice flowing in the air. When I searched to see where it was appearing from, I noticed Grandpa growing his own spice garden. A bubbling excitement coming up because I knew homemade chili was coming about. Laughter coming from a distance from behind me, I skip on over to see what's was going on. Before I approach I hear bouncing from springs stretching and closing. Soon I am laughing along, sisters and brother are cheering Mom on. Look at Mom's moves, she can flip as she jumps on the trampoline.

I sneak away because this is a memory in the making. I call Dad over to come see. Soon he hops on and enjoys the enjoyment he sees in his wife.

“Hello”, “Hello” coming from the front. I go and check and there is Grandpa with a store bag full of pecans for the grandkids to enjoy. "YAY," coming from the mouths of the excited kids.

Walking down the street, I see friendly neighbors, hear cats meowing and dogs barking. Whoosh—a gust of wind knocks me down to the ground, leaves are flying in the wind, leaves scratching the ground on 23rd street and kids from all over laughing in a distance. Looking ahead is a school called Freeman Heights. I start to walk over and I see the tree I planted years ago standing tall, the only tree with all the leaves on it still. It was a tree that was made to live for the spring, a tree that was made to go up against strong winds in the spring.

Walking back home, to enjoy the fresh baked goods from earlier and the foods that were prepared for the Sunday feast. Suddenly there is a thick fog blocking my view of anything in my path, I am trying to make it home when I shockingly woke up… Everything I smelled, saw, heard was real from the past, and it was nothing new; just a day of memory I dreamt about because I didn’t want Grandpa and Grandma gone.

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