April Fool's

I didn't want realism anyway; I wanted things to be highly coloured, simple in outline, without ambiguity, which is what most children want when it comes to the stories of their parents. They want a postcard." --Margaret Atwood

My parents were engaged today, 21 years ago. My dad hasn't changed his style. Of course he'd propose on April Fool's Day. Oh, Dad. My mom sent an email completely reliving the moment and their celebration dinner that night at The Casbah, down on Clark. Sometimes I forget my parents preceded me. I love being reminded by them that they did. I love knowing that even in this area, my parents were here. It gives me even more reassurance that I'm not out of my element, being six hours away from home. Even Bennison's, where they bought their wedding cake, and Seville Flowers on Sherman, where they got their flowers for both their wedding and my baptism, are just a hop down the street. I love knowing this. I want to go to my old neighborhood and walk around. I clearly remember the stones that lined the street. I bumped into one when learning how to ride my bike--light lavender, a plastic basket adorned with a yellow and purple flower, and training wheels. I also remember them from Halloween, when I wore a dirnel, not that I knew what it was then. I held onto my sister's hand and jumped up on them as she swung me up by my arm. That night, I shoved my arm into a paper grocery bag, got it cut close to the armpit from trying to reach into the bottom. I managed to pull out M&M's. They came in boxes then. Dark brown boxes that had the logo printed diagonally across the length of it. My dad said he'd eat all my candy. I didn't realize he was joking, and ate as quickly as I could from my own bag. Everything fades from there into the burnt, scratched and tarnished wood table where I sat at the head, kneeling so I could reach it.