My Song

“Five Again”

By: Natalie Connors

VERSE 1:

Pretending life’s a never-ending

Fairytale once again

You’re the prince; I’m the princess

In the pretty pink dress

You’d kiss me once and we’re

In love

Just like that

CHORUS:

Well wasn’t it simple when

Your worries were just what to wear

Where the good always finished on top;

I’d love to go back there

Crawling into a big bed

After chasing butterflies

Each day was a surprise

So can we pretend we’re five again?

VERSE 2:

Where the biggest mess in life

Was your Barbies on your

Bedroom floor

When you got in trouble for

Forgetting to do a chore

Each boy had cooties

And at recess

Liked to chase you around

CHORUS:

Well wasn’t it simple when

Your worries were just what to wear

Where the good always finished on top;

I’d love to go back there

Crawling into a big bed

After chasing butterflies

Each day was a surprise

So can we pretend we’re five again?

BRIDGE:

I look back to then

And remember wearing big high heels;

And how I wished I could be older

But now; I just wish I could

Live it all over

CHORUS:

Well wasn’t it simple when

Your worries were just what to wear

Where the good always finished on top

I’d love to go back there

Crawling into a big bed

After chasing butterflies

Each day was a surprise

So can we pretend we’re five again?

A Cold Winter Day

     It was the kind of cold day that kept children inside playing board games with siblings all day.  Blue sheets of ice covered every open surface in sight, making outdoor fun impossible unless you owned a pair of ice skates.  Driveways remained un-shoveled; mounds of snow piled up around each mailbox. The bare trees shook violently with each gust of wind, looking like at any minute they may snap.  I find pleasure in turning on Rachael Ray’s cooking show and cooking whatever Rachael was cooking on days like these.  Today it was stuffing.  The kitchen smelled of many different herbs and a mint chocolate chip Yankee candle that was slowly burning down to nothing on a rectangular table placed in the center of the room.  I was wearing fuzzy pajamas with every color in the rainbow, and pink slippers covered my feet.  My hair was a mess, brown strands of hair coming out all over my head. The only noise to be heard was the ovens slight, faint tapping noise as it cooked my dinner, and the heater as it roared to life.  I looked outside the window; white shreds of clouds began the journey downwards to a never ending ice rink.  As I stood there by the window what sounded like a rollercoaster made its way down the road.  I was frozen like the snow outside when I saw a massive brown and black house on wheels in front of my small wooden structure.  Along the sides were pictures of six sting instruments, so detailed that if one were to hold up a real guitar next to it, you wouldn’t be able to distinguish which one was fake.  The engine inside this tour bus was so loud that Rachael Ray’s voice could no longer be heard; instead it was replaced by a loud buzzing noise that the neighbors probably could hear too.  As fast as it had all started, it stopped.  A door that blended in with the brown cabin flew open, and almost came off as the harsh winds tugged it.  I was in complete shock when a tall blonde girl wearing just jeans and a black baggy sweatshirt, clearly not prepared for this cold weather, strolled up the porch, her arms hugging herself for warmth.  Her gloveless, long fingers tapped what I knew was the doorbell, but it had broken one hot summer day.  My tired legs slowly crawled along to the blue piece of wood that was called my door.  Before the knob was all the way turned the door viciously flew backwards and hit the wall.  Now a crater as deep as an apple was in the cream colored walls.  Another thing I would have to fix.  I looked up at the girl.  When she saw that I was waiting to hear who she was she quickly introduced herself as Lily, the former owner of my shack.  She soon realized my confusion and said that she hoped to look at the house that she grew up in.  To prove that she was telling the truth she took out a picture of the house from about fifteen years ago.  I looked at the picture in absolute wonder; back then the porch was still sturdy, flower boxes hung from each window, each bursting a different color.  The grass was as green as it could possibly be, and the brown paint was not chipping off as it was right now.  Not knowing what else to do my hand made a gesture that welcomed her into a small circular room with ugly yellow walls, a tiny TV in the corner, picture frames that attempted to hide the hideous walls, and a stained couch that had springs popping out of here and there.  Lily explained that this is exactly how it was when she had lived here, and that her dad let her pick out the color of the walls when she was only five years old.  She peeked behind the couch and saw a mess of squiggly lines in all the Crayola Crayons colors available.  I then learned that her and her younger brother did that years ago, and that the two were grounded for a month afterwards.  I made my way into the kitchen to check on my stuffing and Lily followed.  She examined the table that was scratched and beat.  Under the antique block of wood squiggles that appeared to spell out Lily and pictures of ovals with round faces and tails could be seen.  Butterflies flew with heart-shaped wings in these pictures also.  Next, she told me how when her parents discovered these doodles they made Lily rake the entire yard.  From there she went to the stairs that spiraled up endlessly to the second floor.  After asking to go up them she said that her room was the large, open purple one on the left.  She walked in to find a mess of storage: papers covering every empty space, a dusty treadmill in the back corner near the window, boxes stacked up to the ceiling, an ancient computer that was bigger than the majority of the boxes and a printer that exploded one day, resulting in a huge purple mess on the carpet.  At this point I deeply regretted never taking the time to clean this room.  She managed to make her way to the other side of the room, and looked out the rectangular glass to the land outside.  Under the huge oak tree that climbed high into the sky, casting monstrous shadows all over my house and even most of my next door neighbors yard, that cats enjoy climbing up in the summer, her golden retriever with a bark that sounded more like a ducks quack lay on his stomach, his head between his front paws, after being put to sleep.  Big, round tears fell from her blue eyes to her thin nose then down to the grey carpet.  She finally caught a glimpse of the big bus awaiting her near my crocked, blue mailbox and dismissed herself after thanking me for letting her look around.  Before she walked out the front door to leave she explained the point behind her visit.  After releasing a triple-platinum album, and going on a sold-out tour around the world, she had to come back to this small town.  She missed the greasy, orange pizza available down the block.  The birds songs as they prepared for winter, the smell of freshly cut, green grass, and the flickering fluorescent street lights.   I heard the bus fly down the street for the last time, and knew that she was gone.  My stuffing was awful since I forgot about for so long.  I reached for the huge phone book in the cabinet where tiny brochures of local restaurants lay, collecting dust.  I grabbed the old telephone, the paint from the buttons gone after endless use.  I ordered myself a tasty orange pizza with extra pepperonis covering the top from the local restaurant down the block then sat down, and thought about this odd day.  I just started to realize that this place that I seem to take for granted is great in it’s own way, and if I were to move I would miss it just like Lily did.  From then on I promised myself to take care of the joint a bit more too.