I Remember Prompt

                I remember the grassy, sloped front yard of a house on Virginia Lane back home. The blades of green, sharp. Chlorine and sweet flowers, pungent. I remember the feel of giddy unknown hidden among the scenery, with memory of summer laced in the sound of birds, memory of kisses on the black tar of the driveway, memory of gentle hands down by the drain where I took care of a stray cat, once. I remember the way the yard made things seem exciting and hopeful, stretched out far past the reach of a young man’s bent leg, but buzzing in sync with his contagious energy. I remember events of importance and events of no consequence witnessed by a brick home. A pool waiting patiently in the back, lapping at the sides of cement in a hope to entice me closer. But I remember the front more passionately. I remember a house on Virginia Lane that had a beautiful front yard with two cars in the driveway. And that means I remember him.