The back room, the blue one – the cool, icey blue on the walls that made you breathe deep when you walked in.
The back room, the cool room, the one with the strawberry patch outside. Surrounded by cool, peach roses.
200 of them to be exact.
The TV antennae
that hummed when you turned it.
The football games, the roast beef. Zingerman’s deli.
The cherry tree, so old its bark was black, with thick, twisted knots at every branch.
And sometimes for just no reason.
The tall, dark stationary, with secrets. The bottom right drawer of which held bandaids. And smelled like grandparents.
We hid during parties,
sometimes, in the back room.
Watching football. Turning the antennae. Trying to get it just right.