The feeling of hard top

A bright red ball rolled across the asphalt covering of the playground. I watched as it weaved through a couple of crevices carved into the ground. My hands rested on the grainy surface sprinkled with a dusting of dirt and sand leftover from the afternoon recess. The yelling, the singing, the sounds of sneakers slapping against the pavement in the rhythmic parade of tag once all encompassing and yet almost unnoticeable, was now gone. One-thirty now - the kids were back in class ever since their teacher, round and sharp in her blue courderoy dress, called out their names one last time to get in line and march through the great aluminum doors. I watched the last two holding hands (best friends forever) walk through the doors. I watched the door swing close behind them. And then I walked onto the black ground and took a seat right in the middle of the four square court. The ball was still there. I stretched my toe out a little to the right and tapped it away from me.

I really miss the days of four square. The feeling of winning and having your friends back you up just so you can stay in the top spot. I miss the days of recess. Running as fast as I ever have chansing the boys in a game of flirtatious fourth grade tag. Left with memories and vivid recollections of the feeling of hard top. Not that bad a thing, afterall. Some people will never feel it. And some people will never remember.