My memories of Shreveport summers are scattered like Kodak Instamatics from the TG&Y, full of lens flares and the Evil Knievil ghosts of America’s Bicentenial. They make my mind rev like a stolen go-cart. They bring dirt clod wars raging inside my head.
My brightest dreams come from sunny nights, brimming full of daylight savings time, mosquito trucks with their clouds of cancer, chasing kids on their 10 speeds, old folks sitting in their lawn chairs, watching it all go by, smiling and waving and wishing that we wouldn’t make so much noise.
At supper time, I smell chicken frying from our neighbor’s house. But not at mine – my momma’s on the Weight Watchers.
My eyes sting from the chlorine and my hands are sticky from the watermelon that we ate at the Elks’ Club. I lost my towel at the Pack-a-Sack playing Joust. It looks like a giant roll of Lifesavers. But it doesn’t matter. My swim suit is dry now.
Watch your snow cone. Don’t spill it in the car. When we get home you need to get that room picked up. Come on inside and help your daddy shell these purple hull peas.