there's something about hearing lawn mowers that still makes me feel like it's early on a saturday back when i was growing up. it makes my insides feel like they need to pull into a ball and somehow travel back in time. home sickness. earlier me sickness.
i remember walking out of our garage with our friend during a garage sale with a tube of wild cherry lifesavers in my hand thinking how good they were and walking across the front lawn (or, more likely, loping) down the side of the house that sat close to the next house on the small incline lined with thin pine trees, monkey grass, and my father's cross tie wall. i don't remember what happened once we reached the backyard.
where did all those other me's go?