The Memory In Our Sandbox

The Memory

My name is Jaime Hue- and I have an issue...one that can't be solved with pills or potions. This issue has been eating away at me for years, 16, to be exact. Its gotten so bad that I cant sleep, eat, work, or even breath without the thought of my issue because its constantly on my mind: From the moment I wake up, to the second my eyes shut. And, my issue isn't an it- it's a 'him'.

This all happened one day when I was five, in a small town known as Sunnyvale, California. I remember it so clearly: It was a chilly morning, but there wasnt a cloud in the sky. My mom, a chirpy blonde with a lipstick stained smile, tugged me down the narrow sidewalk. As we went along on our daily 'nature walk' together, I looked around at this familiar place I call home. The discolored grass and shrubs sparesly lined the crackked sidewalks. The birds seemed to sqawk at one another rather than chirp. The air had a faint hint of cigarette smoke, practically undetectable to those who are new to this suburban town. The houses are all a crusty beige, with low white picket fences separating each neighbor from another. I've seen it all, yet, as I walked down the same cracked sidewalk, I couldnt help but feel as if something was different. 

"Here we are, Sweetie-Pea, " My mother abruptly stopped, yanking me back a few toddler steps which whipped the sulfery air from my tiny lungs. Her high pitched voice seemed to fade into the background as my eyes beheld this entrancing object before me. Pink. Purple. Green. Yellow. Orange. The colors were almost blinding as I watched kids run up and down this foreign object's ladders and fall off it's slides. 

This was the grand opening of my town's first and only public playground. 

"Well, go on" My mother nudged me gently towards the dark mahogany woodchips, but all I could do was stand there, unware of what to do. 

All around me kids screamed bloody murder, and cried as if this were some type of rainbow battlefield. I looked back at my mom, who was already conversing with her fellow 'Polly-pocket' friends, as I timidly waddled deeper into the new playground. After what felt like hours of hiding from kids, and random squirrels, I gave up and sat alone under a hot pink slide. Yet, just beyond this colorful prison laid a small, quiet, area of yellow. 

I discovered the sandbox. I waddled friskly over, my neon pink leggings with dark purple spots splattered all along them were wet and muddy at the edges, as I fell face first into the sand. I wore a matching tank top, but it was hidden underneath my favorite oversized, neon green puffy jacket. I sat up, squinting as peices of sand stuck to my sticky face and fiery red locks. 

The sandbox was beautiful. No one came near it. It was simple, quiet, and sat away from the mess of kids and deathtrap equipment. And, I also love the color yellow. The sun rose higher in the sky as I sat by myself and built messy sand castles, with the addition of grass and twings. As I put the finishing touches on my masterpeice, a shadow began to loom over my safe yellow haven. There he stood: My problem. A little boy in dark blue jeans. 

My green eyes grew larger, and that small heart within me began to have a spaz attack and karate chop my insides as I slowly let go of all my clumps of grassy dirt. His hands twitched at his sides, as he robotically tried to manuver himself over the ledge that separated him from me, and my sandbox. He landed with a thud, kicking up sand; as he got closer, that humping feeling in my chest only grew louder, until he stopped just a foot away from me and sat down. 

 The world around me seemed to move in slowmotion, and eventually he was the only thing I could see. He has a mass of curly dark brown hair, tan skin that was littered carelessly with freckles, soft molasses eyes, and his partly agap mouth was missing two front teeth. 

So there we sat, unmoving, fully entranced with one another other. Finally, his upper lip twitched. My breath was cut short as I watched it twitch again, and again, as his mouth opened slowly. I could feel my ivory face heat up, as I waiting for him to do something- anything.

 And then, I wished he hadn't. 

This freckled boy's body shot backwards; his neck bent so far forward it looked as if he were spineless; a combination of green mucas and silvery saliva shot from all the holes on his face. I tried to react, or just comprehend, what just happened, but all I could do was sit still. My almost transparent brows furrowed together as my lips puckered in distaste, and I watched as this boy laid motionless, his back against the sand. 

"...BLESS YOU....", I squeaked as I watched him lie motionless in his corpse-like position.

 The minutes felt like hours as I waited for him to come back to life. Finally, his curly head bobbled weakly as he sat up, focusing his brown eyes on my newly green speckled face, as he giggled loudly. Hot tears began trickling down my cheeks, and a muffled sob escaped my lips. His abnoctious giggles quickly subsided, as he scooted closer to me until the tops of our knees touched. His small hands gently cupped by wet cheeks, as his meaty fingers tried to rub off the now dried gunk. I sat there sniffling, as he looked into my teary eyes again. My heart fluttered like before, and I felt, utterly, bonded to him. He sent another round of contagious laughter my way, and I couldn't help but allow a choppy laugh to escape my thin, pink lips. My tears dried faster than his snot, and we sat there like two peas in a dysfunctional pod: His hands still holding my cheeks. 

"Lucas...!" A stern female voice called in our direction. His head spun to her, flicking sand in my eyes.

I jolted out of his grip and whinned in pain, as he frantically tried to get to his feet. I sat there, still trying to rub the sand from my eyes, as he walked away from me toards the edge of the sandbox. Right as he was about to climb out, he glanced back at me, and smiled that goofy smile of his, until his mouth began to twitch again. Instinctively, I turned around and braced for another impact, but instead, I heard a soft spoken voice. 

"M-Mocas, Locas." He said with a stuttering lisp.

I turned back and watched as that freckled boy climbed out of our sandy pen and stumbled onto the sidewalk; he took off into the distance with his arms in the air, weaving side to side like a drunk superhero.

Once I lost sight of him, my smile faded as I sat there alone, once again, in that cold sandbox. I felt empty, and itchy, as the thudding in my chest subsided. So there I sat, still surrounded by screaming kids and the loud world- staring at the empty spot where he once was in awe. I didn't know much about this boy- all I knew was that I wanted, no, needed to embed his name in my head. 

"Mocas...Locas...Mocas...locas..."

....Lucas....

This is where our story begins.