Reminiscing

I yawn loudly, stretching my arms up into the sky. I rub at my eyes, exhausted from having been woken up before the sun. Brooklyn was giddy, practically jumping as she ran up the hill, calling over her shoulder for me to move faster. Even at four in the morning, she’s as energetic as ever. I stare up at her shadowed form from the foot of the hill where we play almost daily. It was still dark enough that we should have brought flashlights but Brooklyn overruled me. So, with cat pajamas, boots with no socks, and a thin jacket that did nothing to keep out the chill in the air, she rushed me out into the night.

I rub at my eyes again as I follow her up the hill, beginning to worry that her shouting would wake up the entire block. I trip and stumble over my feet, wishing that Brooklyn had given me a pair of my own boots and not her’s, which were two sizes too big. The cool night air hadn’t yet begun to warm, the bitter taste of oncoming winter waking me up almost as effectively as Brooklyn’s squealing. The grass was slippery with the morning dew and, as I had tripped twice on the way up, my jacket was now soaked with it.

“Why are we up here?” I whine, wanting for all the world to be in bed, curled up under the blankets and snuggling with Mr. Fuzzles.

“Look around!” Brooklyn shouts, jarring me completely awake. She spun around, her arms thrown out wide to indicate everything around us. Her bright purple jacket, which was twice as thick as mine and fell down to her knees, swirled around her like a dress. She grins widely. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

“Yeah, sure,” I say, even though I can barely see what she calls ‘beautiful’ in the dark. I glance around at the shadows, nervousness starting to creep under my skin as if the cold of the night had bought it out. “We play out here every day. Why do we have to come out here this early?” I know that I’m whining but I want to go back to sleep. Today is my first day of third grade and Brooklyn’s first day of fourth, I don’t want to sleep through it.

Brooklyn grins like she always does.

If Mommy and Daddy come to check on us and we’re gone, we’re going to get into a lot of trouble. I’m about to tell her that I want to go home when she holds up her hand to stop me. Brooklyn grabs my shoulders and spins me around, shouting, “Behold! The sun at its best!” I stopped cold when I saw it. A red orb cut in half by the horizon, the sky turning from black to pinks and yellows and pale blues. The clouds look like cotton candy.

I’ve only ever seen sunrises in pictures before. This is so much more beautiful than the pictures could ever be.

“Wow,” I breathe, mesmerized by the sight.

“I told you it would be worth it,” Brooklyn says from behind me. I could hear the grin in her chipper voice.

*************

I stare down at the stream flowing under the bridge I’m standing on, the night air cooling my skin as the moon stares back. It's too dark to see the bottom of the river but I can imagine the stones trapped beneath the surface, years of water running over the rock and smoothing the edges of the sharp stone. The water ripples as a duck paddles out from under the bridge. It turned its head around and let out a quack. A few moments later, three baby ducks swam out and followed their mother down the stream. I watched them go, my mind wandering back to those days with my big sister on the hill.

So much has happened since those days. Mom and Dad are living in Florida now, where all of the old people migrate like birds in the winter. Brooklyn went to Harvard for a law degree and is now running her own law firm down in Los Angeles. Sometimes, I can’t reconcile the energetic little girl who would defend me on the playground from bullies with the stiff sitting behind a desk. Then, I see her working a case, I see the fire she puts into each and every detail, her passion driving her forward for those that need her help. That’s when I see that little girl again, as protective and energetic as always.

Then there’s me, a state college graduate and a High School English teacher. Some of the students would put me in an asylum if they had their way but there are some that ground me, that let me know I’m right where I’m supposed to be.

“Jamie, what are you doing out here? You're going to catch a cold.” I turn to look at Marcus as he crosses the bridge to stand beside me. He takes off his jacket and drapes it over my shoulders even though I’m already wearing one of my own.

“Reminiscing,” I say, bringing myself back to the present. I peck him on the cheek.

My husband smiles warmly, showing off the dimples usually tucked behind a splattering of freckles. He wraps his arms around me and pulls me close enough to feel the warmth of his body through both jackets. “Come on, the last thing we need is for you to get the baby sick,” he teased. His fingers gently caressed my stomach over my shirt, which is six times bigger than it was seven months ago.

“I’m not going to get him sick,” I say, smiling up at Marcus.

Marcus quirks his brow, something which he admitted to practicing in the mirror as a child. “Him? You told the doctors you didn’t want to know the gender.”

I shrug, prettily. “Mother’s intuition.”

He chuckled, a deep, soothing sound. Marcus leaned down, murmuring in my ear, “Let’s go inside now.” I nod.

Marcus and I turn and walk back the way I had come, towards the cozy little townhouse with the red brick chimney and pale blue walls.