Through the Generations Julia Fu

The Message

eyes. Take a step back in time. Just for a moment; close your

Do you remember this day? The sky is blue, clouds a distant smattering of grey on the horizon, while the sun beats gentle waves on the grass, the trees, the people. There are two kids in the park, running around and climbing trees. A little too old for playing, some may think, but—you're never too old to have fun. It's the summer when you were eleven. You crash into a tree, just barely avoiding smashing your nose on the rough bark. Your lungs heave as your best friend stumbles into you a second later, and giggles spill into the open air as both of you collapse into a heap on the ground. "I win again," you brag. "Shut up!" Your friend slaps you lightly on the shoulder, but they can't control the grin stretching across their face. Flicking a stray blossom out of their hair, you accidentally-on-purpose smack them back; the laughter bubbles up again. Those were good days. Don't open your eyes yet. The kids stand, wobbling on exhausted legs, before tottering off to the pavilion. You watch them go, a little sprout of who you are now happily skipping across the park with a best friend in tow. How long has it been since you talked to them? Texted them? How long has it been since you've seen them? Years. It's been so long, you realize, you don't remember their face anymore.