The snow continued to fall slowly covering the ground. It was a Friday in January, and my friends and I had just left school for the weekend. Despite our parent’s looming warning of not being able to get home. Their warnings went in one ear and out the other. The 7 of us headed out in the cold for our friend’s basement warmth. I grabbed a blanket and settled down on the couch. I felt like we were the last 7 alive as the world became white. It was late at night but you never would have guessed by looking out the sliding glass door. The ground was a white canvas and the moon reflected across it. My eyes turned away from the moon to the T.V.

The first Conjuring was displayed. Since then I have grown to love scary movies and the way my whole body tenses, but only because I know none of it is real. No matter how purely terrifying the scene of the girl hanging by the tree at the end of the day is; I am still in a basement warm and with no worries. Throughout the movie I raise the blanket over my eyes and lower it, the cycle repeating like clockwork. I scream so loud like I just witnessed a real-life murder. It’s fun to scream when it holds no value. The movie ends on a cliffhanger which means I will have to endure another night of these poorly made horror films. It has been a year of watching movies in that basement. It has been a year of leaves across the ground and another year of sitting in my wet suit, cold. Every time pizza is eaten and every time I am glad to be surrounded by the people who make me feel like we are the last ones alive while the world around us becomes white.

Five-thousand-four hundred-fifty two. That’s how many days I have to choose from. How could I pick what my favorite memory is.

The day I turned 14? The day I met my dog? The day I went to OBX? The day we won the championship game? The night we played our rivals? The KHS Homecoming dance?

I don’t remember those days, I remember the memories. I don’t remember the day I turned 14. I remember the big italian dinner on great grandma’s china plates. I don’t remember meeting my dog. I remember being filled with pure joy and excitement, as he ran circles around the old wooden dining table. I don’t remember going to OBX. I remember the leg cramping car ride, that brought me to my happy place. A place of a cool breeze, a friendly warm sun, and peace. I don’t remember when we won the championships. I remember the cold, soggy grass. I remember the rain coming down fast, slipping down my arm and onto my lacrosse stick. I remember holding the heavy gold medal. It’s cheaply made ribbon, fraying at the clasp. I don’t remember the night we played our rivals. I remember the sea of pink clothed students. The claps and shouts of the stands. The boom of confetti poppers in the air. I don’t remember the KHS Homecoming dance. I remember achy feet in sparkly heels, the swaying dresses, the flashing lights. A gym full of sweat, still locked in my nose.

I don’t remember those days. Just instants, that I can’t give a time, or the date. When I was younger I tried to take home sea shells in a sandy bucket. Moments are like that; I can’t keep them forever, but I can always remember them.

Colorado

At 4 am I wake up to my mom-mom blow drying her short, blonde hair. I slowly crawl out of my warm bed and begin getting ready for the airport. My family is moving in a sluggish manner, wanting to return to our comfy beds and sleep. We begin loading our bags into our car and then we pile in and start our adventure to the airport. When we arrive at the airport, we go through TSA and bag check, waking up with the sun. We grab Dunkin’ Donuts for breakfast and wait in our section until we are called to board our flight. I look around and familiarize myself with the flight attendants. Two shorter women with blonde hair and a tall man with a shaggy beard. We board the plane and the intercom switches on, filling the plane with the deep voice of the Captain. My eyelids grow heavy as I look out the window and watch the world grow smaller. I wake up to the smooth landing of the plane and find myself breathing in the clean, fresh air. I’ve never smelled anything so crisp and cold. My family exits the plane and is greeted by a “Welcome to Colorado” sign. As we drive, I take in the new view. I see vast expanses of green fields, clear blue skies, and smiles on the faces of people we pass. Pulling up to our cabin, we are greeted by the sun and a cool breeze on our cheeks.  The sun bore down on us, giving us warmth against the chilly breeze that made my hair fly this way and that. We go to the restaurant to eat outside, taking in the view of Estes Lake, the people wandering around, paddle boarders and boaters on the lake, and the ducks taking a dip in the cold water. As we eat we take in the huge mountains surrounding us in the park. The different hues of brown and huge white caps you can see from miles away. The gigantic moose and other wildlife are noticeable through the thick lenses of binoculars. As my family and I head in for the night, we look up at the starry sky and breathe in the fresh, thin air, grateful we are here to share this memory.

The shadows normally cast by the enormous skyscrapers were faded in the overcast December day. My best friend and I, driving into Philly through the congested freeway, looked over the city with elation. We parked in a damp parking garage and rushed down numerous flights of stairs with families and couples, people living their normal lives, people who were strangers, but who shared the same mood as me, allowing them to become familiar. We entered the populated streets. Philadelphia was washed in gray. Everything, the buildings, the lights, the signs, the people, were swallowed by it. We found a market squeezed between two bland, mundane pieces of urban architecture. The market’s exterior made it look small and unimpressive. The wind blew us through the doors and as we stepped in, its warm lighting and temperature provided relief from the cold and gray of the outside. We were deceived by its outside appearance, the food market was colossal. My friend had to link arms with me to remain together through the mass of people buying and selling food, eating, drinking, and talking; the mood carried me contentedly through the walkways and in between shops. My ears were filled by the noise of people but also music. It was blasting from the speakers where people were performing at the center of the market. The beat and the rhythm carried itself throughout every inch of the building. The noise was just as compressing as the crowds, but I enjoyed the chaos. After eating we reluctantly left, and succumbed to the cold again. Driving home, my memory remains a blur of lights and black outlines of the skyscrapers fading behind me. 

During the summer of 2017, we took a trip to Denia, Spain. It was such a fun vacation to experience with my family and best friends. The first thing I remember is the airport and process to get there. Only being 11 years old and leaving the country was a big deal and something i’m so grateful for. The airport was loud and busy, so much movement for my young eyes. When we boarded the first plane, I felt excited. It smelled clean, people were calmer. A big screen in front of me, full of movies I could watch and music I could listen to. Because it was such a long flight, we got a meal half way through. I was pasta, had a plastic wrap sealed on it. When I opened it, a salty smell made its way through the steam seeping out of the plastic. Sleeping was hard when you’re squeezed in between your family. the hard arm rest I had to rest my head on left a red mark on my cheek. Finally we arrived at the airport in Spain, everyone was so kind. The language was all different, the signs were in spanish, and the conversations I heard were fast and in all types of different languages. The air was warm and it was sunny outside with no clouds. We got to take a train to Denia. Once we got there we took an uber to the house. Passing by the town of color, the buildings squished together shooting up tall. There were people walking everywhere, lots of bikes and music seemed to always be playing somewhere. When we got to the house it was like I was in a different world, it was so beautiful. The beach was just a 2 minute walk down the ally. The sand was hot and the water was clear and refreshing. There was a beach bar with amazing food. The drinks were made from real fruit and tasted amazing. After the first day we went to dinner on the shore. We had pallea and it was so good. Once we were full we ran to the waves while our parents had wine. We ran around in the dark, and the sand was cold. We walked home and fell right asleep. The next day we went into town for lunch. We went to the market and it was flooded with people. The air smelled salty and we got to pick out fish and fruit. We got to pick out whatever we wanted, but we had to say everything in spanish. All that time in Spain, I experienced so many things. I got to see the running of the bulls, and I got to see a live bull fight. I got to try all different foods and meet different people. For the extent of the trip, the main thing I remember was feeling so happy. The food was amazing, the people were so kind. I was so sad when I had to go home, but I cant wait to go again.