72 Little Moments | My Second Childhood

Chapter 1
72 Little Moments | My Second Childhood

I am sad.

My feet can no longer reach the pedals of my Corvette.

The clock in my room is ticking very loudly.

They are quarreling downstairs.

I ask for soup. It doesn’t have much taste.

The shower is weak.

I do not want to look at myself in the mirror.

My kid brother’s T-shirt billows like a tent over me.

***

An infant sneezes at the doctor’s waiting room.

Cold carbolic fingers poke at my pudgy body.

He says that I no longer need to wear glasses.

They search for a booster seat in the cafeteria.

All I can see are legs and torsos.

Fresh coffee is on the table, but I can’t have any.

I squeak in a baby-doll Kewpie voice.

Everyone is laughing at me.

***

I am weary.

My kid brother said I look sweet and vulnerable like a chicken.

The wrinkled old woman in the park tousles my hair with her leathery hands.

I stop to watch a cross-eyed calico cat chase white butterflies.

His scooter has bright orange flames on the handlebars.

Swings creak and cry out going back and forth.

I feel trapped in a state of metallic isolation.

My fiancée visits! I am embarrassed, but she smothers me and promises she will babysit until I recover. Mum shoots her disapproving glares.

***

The raisins in the toasted bread slices are too hot.

I didn’t get two seats to myself on the school bus.

I look so stupid in plaid shorts and knee socks.

I get very tired climbing a flight of stairs.

My seat does not have a back.

#2 pencils roll and bump in a drawer that is opened and then shut.

The teacher’s eyes capture me. He says that my addition is not correct. My cheeks bloom red.

A hunky chunky boy chews loudly in the lunchroom. He has a pair of huge front teeth like Chiclets.

The homework I have to do this afternoon is difficult.

I do not want to read about dinosaurs.

***

I am excited.

The beach! I wriggle my toes by the ocean edge.

The water laps up in sheets over the shell-tiled sand.

My Batman Band-Aid got wet.

I roll up the newspaper to make a telescope.

The kids in front of us are taking forever to choose their ice cream.

The rubber flower dropped off my sister’s swim cap.

The wind blows, the gulls cry, and I laugh.

***

I am confused.

I do not know why that young man in the family photo looks familiar. His face feels like an echo across the noise of time.

I forget my babysitter’s name in a sudden attack of shyness. She begs, “Let me keep hugging you until I can stop crying.”

The room is too warm for my afternoon nap.

Big bro keeps cheating at video games!

The movie is scary, yet sis says I’ve watched it before. We gobble popcorn like goats.

Riding on Dad’s shoulders, I am on top of the world!

***

I am hungry.

I rummage for candy in Mommy’s drawers, but all I find is an empty “AGE RX” tin.

Tiny roasted potatoes sit in the dish. Crisp and oily on the outside, tender on the inside. They melt in my mouth.

The evening air is soft as cashmere.

My black-and-white nylon sneakers slalom over the slippery sidewalk.

My new crew cut sparkles with rain.

The street lights rise like guardian sentinels, silhouetted against drifting banks of fog.

Jumping in puddles is such fun!

I babble with great incoherent animation.

***

I am sleepy.

The bath is a little too hot.

My PJs are fluffy and comfy.

I cannot find my stuffed monkey.

The desk lamp casts a dim spotlight.

The bed is nice, warm and snuggly.

I’m so afraid I will be left alone in the dark.

She said there is nothing hiding under my bed.

My milk was scalding hot.

Daddy went outside to hang up the moon for me. Its beam is coming in thru the window and landing on my bed.

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