"If you could have any super power in the world, what would it be?"
I mulled the question over as Sage and I lay on our backs in her yard. We were best friends, and this was usually how we spent our time: talking about everything and nothing.
"Can I mix super powers?"
"No."
"Then I'd want to stop time--like, control it, you know?" I fisted some crisp blades of grass and tugged while she made a sound of approval.
"I'd want to fly."
"And get gunned down for being a UFO?" she swatted my arm and muttered for me to shut up, so I playfully threw my clump of grass at her. It was a warm Saturday evening, and like most weekends, I was spending my time at Sage's house; leaching off her food and cable. My parents were always busy, Mom being an interpreter and Dad in banking, so the house was often empty--save for the few spiders that hung around in the corners.
I sat up and shook the grass out of my black curls while Sage stretched her bronzed arms above her head, groaning unattractively when her bones popped. I stared up at the orange/ purple sky and decided that I should probably head home. Sage asked if I wanted to sleep over but I declined and told her that I wanted to be there when my parents got home. She shrugged and waved at me as I let myself out of her little yard and began my short walk home. It was summer here in Sanfanciso, the air was warm and salt hung in the soft breeze. Seagulls squawked overhead and boats sounded in the bay.
My home; a modest, historic yellow house, was the last one on the street nestled in a corner and flanked by orange trees my parents planted when they first got married. I jogged up the white steps leading to the porch and let myself in, finding that my mother was home early. She was an Egyptian beauty; her dark wavy hair piled up on her head and held in place with a blue scrunchy, her brown eyes tilted down slightly at the edges, her straight nose and full lips set in an oval face with high cheek bones. She was hunched over the table (probably translating something) chewing on her pen cap and sifting through her many papers that were strewn across the little wooden space. As if sensing she was being watched, she glanced up.
"Honey pot! How was Sage?" she greeted as I dropped a light kiss on her caramel cheek.
"Oh, you know, it's just Sage." I answered, rooting around in the fridge for a moment before settling on a handful of grapes. Mom mumbled about starting dinner soon and I told her I wanted spaghetti--since it was the only thing that she could actually make. I wandered into my bedroom that was upstairs and down the left hall at the end. My room was rather large; it had a twin sized bed with cream colored sheets, a jade green antique dresser, a dark brown desk, a walk-in closet, a bathroom, and finally, cheery orange walls. I had a window that overlooked the bay too. But this fairy tail home felt empty most of the time since I was an only child. Whenever the 'more kids' conversation came up, my mom would say that One was enough and she refused to speak more of it. Sage had 2 little brothers and an older sister that traveled the world and told us awesome stories about her adventures whenever she drifted into town. But, because of Sage, I got to live the sibling life vicariously through her.
After showering, taming my hair into a bun, and slipping on my favorite pajamas, I tromped down stairs to find my mother cautiously stirring the noodles as if they'd jump out and bite her, and sat on one of the bar stools to watch her cook. By the time the noodles were cooling and the sauce was ready, my dad breezed through the door. He was Ethiopian with mocha colored skin, hazel eyes, and buzzed hair that was greying at the temples. He tugged his tie loose and smiled at my mother like it was the first time he's ever seen her.
"Nila." he embraced her tenderly and kissed every inch of her face while my mom giggled like she was 13 again. I averted my gaze and wondered how they kept the romance alive after 20 long years.
"Shahana." he turned his attention to me, squeezing my shoulders and kissing my cheek. I smiled; this was why I loved to be home with them like this. I was 18, and after this summer, I'd be in Oregon, going to college and only visiting on holidays.
We all crowded at the small table and ate our over cooked spaghetti; laughing at my dad's jokes from work, listening to my mom rave about hieroglyphs, and chatting about college plans. At 9:30 I was in bed with a smile on my face.
If only I knew that this wasn't going to last.