“The last one is a rotten egg!” We run freely past the living room, past the kitchen, and past our rooms to the backyard, avoiding the cracked soil that pleaded for water by hopping over rocks as if it was a murderous substance. We didn’t want to touch it, we couldn’t. We wanted to live, we had to. After running through another dimension filled with colors, shapes and other miscellaneous objects that our curious cerebrums created, we pushed ourselves to run even faster, feeling like Flash and tried to reach for one of the two swings because we were three. Of course, like the siblings we were, we fought over them not wanting to be the ‘pusher.’ Our mom always watched over us through the kitchen window making sure we wouldn’t get hurt or misbehave, “Take turns,” our mom says. We heard this yesterday and we’ll hear it again tomorrow.

“It’s my turn today!” 

                          “No! You went yesterday!”

                                                             “No, you did!”

                                                                               “No, I didn’t”

                                                                                                “I had to push yall yesterday!”

                                                                                    “Okay, and?”

                                                “What do you mean and?!?”

          “Just push us again today please?”

“Okay, fine. I’ll do it”

         After discussing which two would go first as if we were adults, the ones who argued over anything and everything with foolish excuses, we agreed on who the pusher for the day would be and eventually the day went by. 

         Run, don’t step on the murderous substance, live, imagine, reach for a swing, repeat. The power of our three brains filled with creativity and adrenaline never let us feel down, we had endless fun and it was the fuel to reach our happiness. 

         For years we spent our days playing together and entertaining each other, we were happy for all we knew was games and laughter, we were little optimists. All of our troubles and worries were always taken care of, we never saw beyond the horrible things that were happening around us in the world, the world in which we once felt safe in. This was the world in which I felt happy— in, where I laughed until I was starting to have abs because of it, where I enjoyed what I was doing and where I was me. We promised, we promised not to ever leave each other, to not mature, ever and play in the swings like always, we promised to eventually be better siblings to each other and never be like those so-called adults. The adults who argued over anything, the ones who never had time for fun, the ones who leave and lock their true selves behind to become “mature”. 

         In a flutter of my two eyelids, the promise was broken without my notice. We moved away from those swings where our childhood remained, we thought we were only saying goodbye to the swings but we were actually saying goodbye to our childhood; goodbye to our monumental moments. We comforted ourselves by saying we’d make more memories in our new home, in the new swing set. They told us that nothing would change, same people, the same school and the same lives. All that would change was the house and the swings. “Go ahead, explore the house, run to the backyard.” We looked at each other waiting for someone to run and then realized how much had really changed. Since when did we wait for someone to do something in order to get us to run to the backyard? As we were disoriented we forced ourselves to run and pretend that nothing was acknowledged. We ran to the swings and tried to play our made-up games but quickly got bored with them, it was like we didn’t want to have fun. Not long after, we decided to go inside but I stayed on the swings to reflect. Why is it? Why is it that when we met our new domicile, it felt like a lie? We weren’t supposed to change, they said we would be the same people. Is it the color of the swings? The height? I couldn’t figure it out so I simply decided to head back inside when I stopped abruptly, it had hit me. We broke the promise. Could it be?