at the peak of the hot summer months in suburban San Diego, as we sweat in our non-air-conditioned houses, all the neighborhood kids would finally reach a breaking point. we turned our rooms upside down to collect every water gun and balloon we could find, filled them up using the old green plastic garden hoses, and readied ourselves for yet another epic Water War, the made-up love child of a waterfight and tag. the rules were as fluid as our ammo, and it was the one game where we all craved a good pummeling.
I still remember the unmistakable aroma of grass and dirt that stained our ratty clothes after inevitable tumbles across the lawn. the high-pitched warnings of “carrr!” for our unsheltered friends in the middle of the street as a driver rounded the corner. the hazy waves of steam evaporating from the blazing pavement that caused mirage-like visions. the terror that rose in my throat as I crept around a bush and came face-to-face with the fastest, lankiest kid on the block, his water balloon held high right before its arced ascent into my back as I ran in vain. in the end we were drenched and exhausted, and wore our skinned knees proudly. we’d high-five and hug and move to the cool sanctuary of someone’s garage to share soda and pickles, with half-moon grins from ear to ear.
Life isn’t one big thing– it’s a series of constant fleeting moments that we tuck away in our memory. years later they randomly rise to the forefront of our minds, surprising us with their bittersweet whispers. at the time, I had no idea how important those absolutely carefree moments with my neighborhood friends would be.
