The greatest part of my younger years was the time I spent outdoors. My best friend lived next door to me and we spent all our time on my porch planning our days ahead. Back then, my porch was the central zone for hanging out. With its big gray steps, it had places for everyone to sit so we could watch the cars drive by or when my brother was out playing with his friends. It was a source of comfort for me since I knew I couldn’t get in trouble as long as I stayed near the house. We played games like who could keep their balance the longest on the bricks that lined the planter in front of the porch. I never wanted to fall in because I was allergic to the Juniper trees and if I did, I’d get red itchy bumps wherever it touched me. The porch is where I spent most of my days outside of school.
As I now walk over these steps each day, they are nothing but an extension of the door I am trying to get to. Whether it be leaving to go to school or coming home from a friend’s house, I hardly think about those two small gray steps anymore. The brick surrounding the planter are now cracked and broken; there is not much to see except the plants and welcome signs my mom leaves on the side of the porch. I know the history of those steps, the used to be my childhood. There is nothing there for me since my best friend moved away ten years ago. It has been ten years since my porch was something more than just steps to the door.