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Clips of Childhood
The night's sky was a shade of black, the stars shone like white spots on an artist's canvas. The sounds of the music from within the house flooded through the open glass doors blending together amongst the rhythm of voices from the back patio.
As Elisha walked towards the outside, she was confronted by numerous faces. Those whom she had only met today, and others whom she had practically grown up with. Voices that complimented her, and others who invited her to join in a friendly game, or a beg her to participate in childhood imagination; such as the case was now.
"Elisha, come on! We're playing house and you have to be the mommy!" The little girl had showed up out of thin air, she was six, tiny and full of smiled as she grabbed Elisha's hand in attempt to drag her the rest of the way to the side yard of the house. That was Jenna though, she rarely took no for an answer.
Elisha was thirteen, in the midst of the summer before her eighth grade year, and she was playing childish games such as house. She didn't mind though, she enjoyed playing with the little kids, besides, the way she saw it, High school would require maturity.
She leaned against the house next to her friends, who were only a year younger then her, as Jenna dictated positions, Mommy, daughter, daughter, son, baby, dog and Daddy. The little girl's face scrunched up in frustration.
"Daddy. We need a Daddy!" she swung her arms to her side with a slap and stormed away talking gibberish to herself.
Jenna returned, hand in hand with Brendan Braddock's, a smile declaring that she was pleased now. Brendan was fifteen, in high school and Elisha's next door neighbor of three years. He had also just been recruited as the family's dad.
He looked at Elisha briefly. He was the older brother of her two best friends, the same girls who now stood on either side of her snickering. Elisha was a year older than them, as Brendan was two years her senior.
There was something about him, whether it was his big brown eyes on the fact that he was older, Elisha always had somewhat of a crush on him. She thought he was nice, and she thought, although it was possible that she was mistaken, that he flirted with her on the many accounts that she had been at his house.
Elisha was now at the kitchen of the playhouse her dad had originally built for her, when Elisha was younger. The same structure that now belonged to Jenna.
According to Jenna's interpretation of house, the daddy, was to come home from work, hug the kids, or if they were playing on the floor as they were now, pat their heads before going to the kitchen and kiss the mommy. In the case now, Brendan was to kiss Elisha.
I can't believe my little sister is going to be the cause of my first kiss. Elisha thought as she 'stirred the stew'. Brendan walked through the little wooden door of the playhouse, projecting a laid back and scripted 'honey I’m home'.
He stepped towards Jenna and the rest of the kids, when he lingered there too long, Jenna pushed him away. She was such an actress, more than Elisha had ever been.
"Daddy, Mommy's making dinner." In Jenna's language, that meant 'go to the kitchen' and when she smiled, that translated to NOW.
Brendan closed in on Elisha, her heart pounded in her chest, she sighed, relieved when he only, merely kissed her cheek; much to Jenna's dismay.
In fact, she was all prepared to argue, to cry against their unwillingness to play the game properly; luckily for Elisha, the voices inside that began countdown distracted her.
Jenna stood with hush enthusiasm as she rushed away.
The others quickly followed suit.
Elisha turned quietly after the last child was gone.
She made it to the door before a hand gripped her wrist, pulling her a few steps back.
They were face to face, millimeters apart. She could feel his nerves pulsating through their bones, and yet she stepped closer to Brendan.
"Happy New Year." His voice was deep and hushed as he quickly leaned closer. Pressing his lips against hers; in the form of her first kiss.
The voices in the background, the eruptions of colors and crackling that was the New Year, drained to one, in sync best, the pounding of their hearts echoing in their ears.