my boys

Somewhere around my 10th birthday, my stepdad built me the coolest fort imaginable in a corner of the backyard. The first level was a shed for his tools and whatnot, and then I climbed the ladder up to the second level, a beautiful deck with railings and a curvy slide. The third level started with a few steps up from the second level onto a carpeted hideaway. The third level was the only part of the fort covered by a roof. It even had a window that I could open for a light breeze, and berber carpet to avoid pesky splinters. I painted the inside a deep cherry red. That proved to be a very stupid idea.

I had a boy/girl sleepover in the fort the first week after it was built. I invited the entire neighborhood and got hell for it when kids started showing up in our backyard at 6pm with sleeping bags and potato chips.

During those unbearably scorching Florida summers, you could find me on my stomach, third level, Judy Blume novel in one hand, a glass of lemonade in the other. When I wasn't being anti-social, Jordan, Tyler, Zack and I were spies, adventurers, climbers of limb after limb. We stole oranges from backyards and slurped the juice that gathered in our sticky palms. We played so hard that dirt rings gathered around our necks and clothes were coated in dirt and fresh squeezed orange juice.

There was also a snake-pit somewhere between Zack and Tyler's houses that we used to jump over, just to see if we could make it. My legs were never as long as the boys, and I would always fall into it and scramble out before anything could creep up and bite me. The boys would run away laughing.

At the terribly stupid age of thirteen, I waved to the neighborhood boys from the back of our extrmemly cramped van. I blew them kisses and held up hand-made signs and mouthed that I would come back, I would come back. Two extended, fully-loaded U-Hauls followed behind us, heading the 20 some hours to Pennsylvania. I left my fort behind.

I grew up with them, these boys. I played house (which I detested even at the ripe age of seven) with their sisters, and rode bikes for hours after school and blasted my water guns with the best of them. We were each others.

I still remember little things about them; the way that Jordan would eat ketchup with his mac and cheese and instantly throw up at a single whiff of dog poop; the way Zack would try to rap in his garage and put his arm around me when we all squeezed on his couch, sipping Hugs and pretending to be cool; the way I turned five shades of red when Tyler's lips touched mine in his hot tub.

They were my boys until they weren't anymore. And sometimes, when I remember my tom-boy days, I let them pop into my mind and I climb trees with them one last time.