Do you have a memory that sticks out in your mind? Summertime in Iowa is the grandest of mine. From my head to my toes the memories are stuck in my bones. I close my eyes and start to see fireflies, rivers, corn, and trees. The damp hot hair steams open my mind as memories begin to swell. Peppery-pan-fried catfish sizzling on the stove. My Grandma cuts the groesome head off and throws them in the garbage. I look into the can and see their black eyes staring, their soggy whiskers twisted, and their large mouths gaping open. The gooey smell is most revolting. I think I will not eat this stinky fish. But if I do not I will have no oatmeal cookies whose cinnamon smell has watered my mouth since morning. I can wash the fillet down with crisp watery melon that fills my mouth up with juicy sweet heaven. Then follow by buttery corn cobs bursting between my teeth. The golden, warm kernels pop inside my cheeks. I’m sure the fish is not that bad, it’s well worth the price I must pay, for scrumptious oatmeal cookies.
I go into the basement to watch my Grandpa saw. The screechy sound hurts my ears. I must cover them up if I want to stay. But the basement smells old, musty, and it’s cold. The corners are dark and the ceiling is low. I find it hard to breathe the dank, dirty air. I’m sure there is a ghost or two who have made their home down here. Bottles line the shelves with dust and decay, spider webs hang from almost every display. The stairway is steep and most creepy to climb but I think I’ll go back above ground where I can’t hear the ghouls whine. When the sun goes to sleep chirps, squeaks, and peeps sound of life. I hear the corn growing, it crackles and rustles. Twelve inches is not uncommon for corn to grow on a hot humid night. Fireflies glow leaving trails of white light and cicadas sing with trumpeting delight. A glass jar in my hand I race around in the grass yet the bugs are much too fast. I stumble and cry. "Daddy, will you catch me a firefly?" He is careful and steady as he snatches me a bug, screws on the lid tight, then hands me my little glowing light. I watch it with care as the fly crawls up a twig. It flashes and flutters while bumping his buggy head against the clear glass jar. I open the lid to give him his freedom but confused and afraid it just sits on the bottom. So I tip the jar over and lightly tap on the walls till my glittering insect flies out to his friends. My mother calls me in to snuggle down in my bed. I was tired that summer night, but still stored away this happy memory.
I go into the basement to watch my Grandpa saw. The screechy sound hurts my ears. I must cover them up if I want to stay. But the basement smells old, musty, and it’s cold. The corners are dark and the ceiling is low. I find it hard to breathe the dank, dirty air. I’m sure there is a ghost or two who have made their home down here. Bottles line the shelves with dust and decay, spider webs hang from almost every display. The stairway is steep and most creepy to climb but I think I’ll go back above ground where I can’t hear the ghouls whine. When the sun goes to sleep chirps, squeaks, and peeps sound of life. I hear the corn growing, it crackles and rustles. Twelve inches is not uncommon for corn to grow on a hot humid night. Fireflies glow leaving trails of white light and cicadas sing with trumpeting delight. A glass jar in my hand I race around in the grass yet the bugs are much too fast. I stumble and cry. "Daddy, will you catch me a firefly?" He is careful and steady as he snatches me a bug, screws on the lid tight, then hands me my little glowing light. I watch it with care as the fly crawls up a twig. It flashes and flutters while bumping his buggy head against the clear glass jar. I open the lid to give him his freedom but confused and afraid it just sits on the bottom. So I tip the jar over and lightly tap on the walls till my glittering insect flies out to his friends. My mother calls me in to snuggle down in my bed. I was tired that summer night, but still stored away this happy memory.
