The backyard grass looked like some sort of small heavenly oasis, pockmarked by squirrel holes and clumps of acorns.
It was another other-worldly summer day from my childhood. Sunlight filtered through the still thickening leaves from the oak tree. Somewhere behind the bushes and the wire fence came the steady whirr from the hustle and bustle of traffic on the main street. The sirens from the fire station where the salutations to the city morning.
The sound of shouting and an angry dog barking next door made us feel safe and sound within our leafy sanctuary, but we were also invincible. There was nothing we could not do or be on this glorious morning. With the power of our resourceful creativity and imagination, everything was possible in this backyard of ours.
Reaching for the rusty water nozzle, I stood back at a safe distance. I squealed, as cold water sprayed my legs from the hose, which had suddenly turned into an angry, writhing snake. I pounced on its head, and held it steady—it was time to find my sister.
I exploded from behind the bush with a wild battle cry, wielding my sword of ice cold water. Caught completely off guard, she never had time to scream as her silent cry was met with a mouthful of dirt and metallic smelling hose water. I slashed through the air, again and again, waiting for the small rainbows that would appear from amidst the rain droplets and the mist.
Shouting incoherently, we ran through the yard trampling over sticks and acorns that hurt our feet. I was determined to fully douse her with cold water, but I quickly realized that I had done more damage to myself.
The chase was suddenly interrupted by a familiar tune from a distance. I dropped the running hose and bolted from the yard, running to the sidewalk as fast as my little legs could take me. The ice cream truck mommy, I shouted loud enough, hoping that she would hear from inside. The ice cream truck is here!
Soaked and shivering, I stood in front of the ice cream truck asking for my SpongeBob ice-cream with the gumball eyes before I even had any money to pay with. Luckily, my mother who had remained ever watchful from the window, was two steps ahead of me. She handed the money to the ice cream man, and gave us our ice creams.
We sat together on the front doorsteps that seared our butts and our cold, bare feet, eating our ice cream as fast as we could before it melted. I squinted, trying to see through the sunlight that blazed through the hair stuck to my face. The tiny square napkins the ice cream man gave us did little to stop the mess as the sticky yellow ice cream ran down my fingers and down my arm, forming a small puddle at the base of the doorsteps that quickly dried.
The sound of the still running water in the backyard was faintly audible, and I hurried back to shut it off before my dad came home from work and noticed.
