The Breeze

I get this feeling.

Every time the cold breeze blows on my skin.

It's the only nostalgia that feels good to me.

It blows through me and lifts me back to lovely moments in my life. Times that I didn't know were important until the breeze blew them back.

I think of the first time I took the Greenpoint Ferry. The wind blowing. Me watching the waves form around the boat. I never knew you could take a boat ride for the cost of a train ride. I never wanted it to end. And it ended too soon.

I think of first time I rode in a convertible. I believe we were going from the lower east side to the Met via FDR. It was with my classmates for that wonderful Gallatin class. Sigmund Freud's Great grandson was driving. I tried to smoke but the wind was too strong, so I just enjoyed the ride while it lasted. Another one that ended too soon.

I think of falling asleep in the park when my dad came to visit in New York.

Nedra, Aliya, he, and I went to see The Daily Show in Hell's Kitchen. We relaxed in the park quietly after the show. I put a jacket on my head and drifted off, knowing I was safe surrounded by family.

The first time I ever went on a girl scout trip. I'd never slept in the wilderness before Camp White Pines. I loved thick hoodies as a kid, because I could feel the cold air on my face, but the warmth of my clothing comforted me and assured me I could enjoy nature without getting too cold. Like armor.

The days when I had just started school at Decatur. I was single digits. I was learning what it felt like to be in the world. I would have a half day of school every few weeks. Mom would come to pick me up.

And when the weather was perfectly chilled, fall in the Windy City– as crisp as ever, she would take me to Corner Bakery or the Cheesecake Factory for lunch.

I wasn't always happy, but I was happy on those days.

And I think it was more than getting out of school early.

More than the play dates and special treats.

More evidence in the memories I don't have time to add.

It was the breeze.