The sounds of summer surround the atmosphere in the backyard of my house in Lowell. There is a shabby, old swing set left from the people who had owned this house before us. The hinges are rusty, the swing seats are cracking, and bee’s nests adorn the underside of the slide. A scent of the city is unmistakable and mixed with the smell of pear tree and cut grass. The sky is a perfect shade of light blue with very few clouds. I feel a slight breeze wisp around and whisper my name.

Maxi boy sits beside his large dog house as he protects our yard. The large, stereotypical red food bowl with his name printed in yellow is placed in the front of the house and is filled to the brim every morning. Father lounges outside on a white lawn chair and tosses Maxi boy’s rubber cheeseburger across the lawn towards the neighbor’s tomato garden. Mom is inside cleaning the antique two floor house. The floors creak, dust is collecting everywhere, and some of the furniture is older than my parents, but this is still our ideal home.

A young woman whose name I can never seem to remember lives next door and teaches music. The hundreds of instruments all play at once in a symphony of sounds that one might consider, “useless noise”. I always visit her house at the same time each week where we drink cool lemonade and she plays an accordion one week, a guitar the next, a piano the week after that, and so on. She is my inspiration to sing and learn piano, yet I still don’t remember her name no matter how hard I try. I can only remember her many instruments, her long, curly, and dark hair, and her pale white skin.

My parents are both so young and beautiful, but I see right through the façade. My Mom and I are so alike physically and my Father and I are alike personality-wise. Mom steps out of my view and appears from the old white steps on the side of her house. Her blonde, curly hair bounces around her freckle face. She hands my father a glass of water and runs her fingers through his short, dark hair and smiles her pearly white smile at him. I always notice that her teeth are a little crooked, just like mine.

Father attempts a smile of his own, but I can tell that he is worried. He’s always worried for a reason I’m not sure, and Mom has always been light and easy-going. Mom notices his worry, and I can see hurt pierce her luminescent blue eyes. She touches his pale face and beckons to me. I ignore his anxiety and her sadness and jump off of the rusty swing set to follow Mom into the ancient house.

“Cheyenne, what do you want for lunch?”, Mom asks as we enter the kitchen.

The floor has a small white tiling that is cracking and the walls are peeling wallpaper. A vintage radio player sits on a table to the right of the door and the counters are to the left by the fridge and the oil stove. I can hear chirping coming from the vent above the stove and so I discover a bird’s nest caught behind the vent. Mom wants to make lunch, probably something on the stove. I gasp and realize that I will have to set up several birdie funerals if she does.

“Mom, could you maybe not cook today? There are birds in there.”

I point quickly to the vent and jump up and down. Mom smiles and replies, “Alright Honey. I’ll make sandwiches. Go get your bathing suit on upstairs. I put it on your bed.”

I smile back and say, “Okay Mom! Thanks!”

We had just gotten a kiddy pool yesterday and I picked the colorful fish pattern. Running out of the kitchen excitedly, I make my way towards the front of the house, and up the chipped stairs. I can’t even count how many times I have gotten a sliver on these same stairs. Not that I can count that much at all, at least not past twenty.

When I finally reach the top of the stairs, a grandfather clock is against the sand colored wall staring at me. I shudder and run down the hallway into my small bedroom. The rugs that were once white are now gray and the bureau that was once shiny and new is now dull and old. My favorite bathing suit is on the cot across the room. I have a Lion King sleeping bag as my comforter and an Aladdin pillow. Taking the bathing suit, I prance back down the hallway into the bathroom and close the door behind me.

I wash the dirt off of my hands from the swing set and stand on my tip-toes to check for dirt on my face in the circular mirror. I have hair and skin like my Mom and eyes like my father, a peculiar type of golden brown. With my blue polka dot hand me down bathing suit on I slowly make my way down the hazardous stairs and skip into the kitchen with a huge smile on my face. My bologna and cheese sandwich sits delicately on my favorite green dinosaur plate. Just as I’m about to bite, the familiar ring of the house phone sounds and I sneak into the living room to pick up the phone while Mom comes into the house to answer the other one in the kitchen.

The phone is a dull yellow and has little Blue’s Clues stickers on it from the coloring book I got for
oops! yahoo cut my story off! (: if anyone wants the rest i can send it via email! thanks ! (:
i never told you to tell me what you like because i don’t give a shit. i said to help with my writing skills. dumbass.

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