A Southern born-and-raised writer now navigating her twenties in the Northeast.
Follow me on Instagram: @kelseysyble
Cheerful screams beating against my eardrums. Buttery popcorn sliding down my throat. Her hand wrapped around mine. Every summer since I was five, Mom and Grandma took me to a small seaside amusement park just thirty minutes from our suburb. We’d leave early in the morning and I’d sit in the backseat, listening as they bantered about what music to play. When we arrived, I’d become mesmerized by the way the arched iron entrance framed the sun as it lifted from the sea.
For as long as I knew her, Mama seemed to have two sides to her: light and dark. The light version of Mama was happy, carefree, and affectionate. She helped me with my homework and we danced together in the kitchen to ABBA while baking lemon bread. She smelled like cinnamon and her eyes actually lit up when she smiled.
Imagine You're Home
Imagine damp grass underneath a star-speckled sky. Envision concrete sidewalks nestled against bustling streets. Cassie could. She could still remember her life in these places vividly, as if her time there had been captured on film and relayed through the big screen.