riyah

childhood memories. the one halloween when my sister and i played in the living room all day, and my dad and grandpa photographed us nonstop. i was a witch, and my sister was the blue monster from monsters inc.... sulley? i don’t know why i remember this so clearly, why it sticks with me. it wasn’t anything extraordinary, but it felt special. i wasn’t shy in front of the camera. i felt free. the love coming out of my dad and grandpa’s eyes so apparent. for once, i didn’t question it. i must’ve been 7 or 8, but the memory’s still there, vivid, like it was yesterday.

going to my older brother's townhome complex just to sneak into his community pool. i usually hated it when it was crowded, but there was one summer day when it was the fullest i’d ever seen it, and yet it’s the day i’m most fond of. i made friends with the local kids... lied that i lived there, too. pretending to be someone else. it was easy to talk to them.

donut holes with our dad every saturday. i always got a strawberry milk, and my little sister chocolate. always opposites of each other. 

the trips to huntington beach in the summer... getting sprayed down with cold water at the shower stands. my dad caring for me, washing off the sand, making me feel protected, loved.  mcdonald's on the way home, always the happy meals. mine was a hamburger with everything, because i loved the onions, even though i hated the mustard and pickles. my sister got chicken nuggets or a plain cheeseburger.

kidzbop cds. so many of them. they filled the door compartments on all four seats. we played them on the way to the beach and school. sos and with love on repeat.

the weekends spent with my cousins. one of them my exact age, the other a little younger than my sister. it felt like we were always meant to be close, like i’d been born with a friend already. me and lexie would make potions out of orange juice, dish soap, and whatever else we could get our tiny, grubby hands on, then spray them on every plant we could find in the backyard. "we’re healing them," we’d laugh.

the walks around my neighborhood. eating a family-sized bag of hot cheetos because, in the naivety that only a child could have, we got it in our heads—based on the ads on the bag—that we’d get $1,000 if we ate the entire thing in one sitting. our tongues and fingers stained bright, fiery red. mouths burning. but content. laughter filling the air.

the smell of charcoal and bbq that always reminded me of the beach. going down those concrete steps at the side of my house to see what my dad or brother was grilling. peeling piping-hot potatoes for grandpa's salad. my older sister danielle helping me... our hands bright pink, mine shaking from the burn, but hers never faltered. her hands had been hardened by years of doing this for us, the heat never fazing her. all out of love.

washing dishes for my grandpa. grabbing all my hand-me-down barbie dolls and pretending they had mermaid tails, throwing them into the sudsy water.




it all felt so endless back then. i didn’t realize i’d spend the rest of my life looking back, yearning, mourning—just for one more moment like that. just one more.