Written by Abbi Zepeda, CityHeART Art from Ashes Creative Intern
I remember the koi pond field trip where I skinned my knees.
I remember my sister being born – the hospital smelled like soap and the whole world was holding its breath.
I remember speech class – a stutter and a mute and a tic-tic-tic walk into a room like a bad joke.
I remember movie ticket stubs pressed between book pages.
I remember perfectly pressing a crisp white shirt and I remember the nosebleed that ruined it.
I remember my first big fight and how I balled up my fists.
I remember fourth of July fireworks and the big black headphones pressed over my ears and hiding in the laundry room with my grandma’s pet dogs.
I remember dodgeball teams and humiliation lines and the bleachers that burned when the sun got too high.
I remember my father’s first record player, vintage and silly and broken open like heart surgery on our living room floor.
I remember no tv rules for three weeks when he found out I was the one who broke it.
I remember the mirror in my locker cracking in half and slicing my finger.
I remember bad luck and rabbit’s feet and horseshoes and prayer.
I remember the first time I fell asleep in church.
I remember nervous hands.
I remember UFO tv shows and staring at the sky wondering if plane lights were aliens.
I remember a broken arm with a bright blue cast and the way I signed it with book characters’ names.
I remember wishing that the world would spin off course and take me home to the planet I belonged to – delusional and longing and 12 years old.
