I Don’t Know Why I Remember
by Brittany Stuckey
Sticks were only sticks and twigs were only twigs until they became more to me. It was a day like many others that summer. The sun beamed down on my golden skin with vengeance, but I didn’t mind, see this was the time of year that I looked forward to. It was my chance to get as dark and bronzed as my great grandmother. She was the color of a penny dipped in glitter with a smidge of honey. But what made her a goddess to me were her waist length waves as black as the corner of the attic that I avoided year-round. So I would sit and bask in the rays hoping that God would send her beauty to me in the form of warmth and wind. I would sit for hours with my eyes closed, facing upward until small droplets of sweat formed on the tip of my nose and I could feel my shoulder length locks with colorful barrettes hold the heat of the sun at their tips.