We were roller blading in the school hallways. It was summer and this had become our daily routine. Schools in Los Angeles, generally have covered outside hallways. Perfect for hot days and mischievous kids in the summer.

I heard her scream before I saw that she’d fallen. That scream, the one of pain.

We’d been playing street hockey, then we’d decided to try and do some tricks. Her name was (is) Jory and she was new to the neighborhood. Her parents though she was in our backyard, not trespassing on school grounds. It was obvious her ankle was broken. She was sobbing and worried about being in trouble.

My baby brother sat down and took off his skates. He then carefully took off her skates. He tied the laces together and handed them to me. Then he picked her up and carried her home. 10 years old. Just picked up a 13 year old girl and carried her home. My baby brother, the hero.

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We were loud. I know we were. Four women in a restaurant with no kids or spouses. I’d like to be fair to them and state that we were loud. But dam it, we were in a freaking Beni Hauna’s. At 7pm. On a Friday night. Girl’s night. My birthday dinner. We were having fun. Talking, laughing, cracking each other up. There was eye rolling, joke telling, story sharing and an unfortunate incident with green tea ice cream, but it was all in good fun. For us at least.

The restaurant seats a table until it’s full, it’s just how they do it. Four of us, four of them. I remember hearing them speak, as they ordered their meal. That was it. There was some pointing. A lot of glaring. And one whispered, yeah, like that one right there. But nothing else was said. It was a birthday meal for them too, I know this because the servers sang to the woman, as they handed her an ice cream.

They didn’t say a thing the entire meal. Not a single word. It was so weird. It was like being at a table of aliens. Because every other table? Was full of laughing people having a good time. The four of us? Were laughing and having a fabulous time. They? Were not.

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Wait, babe, let’s go down to the beach really quick, I said to him. We’d just pulled onto our block. Why, he asked? Just do it. Okay, he said, as he turned the car around and drove down to the beach. He parked the car at our favorite spot and we got out.

I took my bundled burrito baby out of her car seat and the three of us walked down to the waves. I sat down and unbundled her. Two days old, five pound, twelve ounces of joy, dressed head to toe in white. Her going home outfit. I carefully took off her little socks and rolled up her pants. Then I stood up, looked around (because I was unsure if I was allowed to be doing this) and walked to the waves. I dunked her little feet in the water, on the next wave. Then I took her to the sand and pressed her feet into the sand. Two days old. I wrote her entire name next to it and her date of birth, December 7, 2001.  One more quick foot dunk to wash off the sand and I re-bundled her up. Then we went home.

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Las Brisas. A random Tuesday. I’d called in sick and asked my mom if she could do the same thing. I just needed some mommy time. I was debating moving to Colorado and needed her to help me make a pro/con list.

We drove the coast the entire way there. Santa Monica down to Laguna Beach. Just a little Mexican restaurant, not the best, but still good. Best Lemon Drops in all of California. It’s the location. Perched on the top of a cliff, overlooking a rose garden and the coast.

We walked through the garden, climbed down to the beach for a bit and then sat there at a table for hours. Laughing, talking. Never once even brought up Colorado.

Somehow I knew by the ride home, what I was going to do. Even though, she never said a word.

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His first birthday. I didn’t think I had it in me to do a thing for it, but somehow I pulled it out of myself last second. My tiny boy. A boxed cake, with store bought frosting. One little cake for him, one big cake for the rest of us. Couple of sprinkles left over from something else; Christmas possibly. One solitary candle. Few gifts, few cousins.

No shirt, no shoes, great service.

He looked all pensive, as he always does at new things. He didn’t cry when we sang, but he had no interest in blowing out his candle. I did it for him. He stuck one tiny finger in his cake and then brought it to his mouth. OOOOOOOHHHHH he said, upon tasting the cake. His eyes got all big. He reached for more, whole hand this time. My boy. One.

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A park bench on the coast. Watching the waves roll in. Talking some. Comfortable silence some. Laughing at the two picnic chairs left on the beach, which the waves are now rolling all over. Making up stories about the people who left two chairs sitting there. A lost in the moment type day. Where reality doesn’t seem so harsh. Where the sun is perfect, the air is perfect and the company is the best kind there is.

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Anyone want to go fishing or crabbing tomorrow? No, they all said. I was not surprised. A room full of teens. Getting up at 4:45am for fun, wasn’t something any of us did. Ever. I was surprised when I heard myself say, sure dad, I’ll come with you.

Two coffees and two breakfast burritos to go. I never knew people ate this early, I told him. He laughed. Yeah, we’re all not teens he said. Sitting on the dock in Pacifica, eating breakfast, as he put dead fish into the crab traps. Just us. I was seventeen and couldn’t remember the last time I’d been alone with him.

We didn’t catch a single fish or crab that morning.

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It’s okay mommy, she said after she fell off the monkey bars. It wasn’t that bad. I wasn’t afraid. You know what mama, she said as she walked up to me. What, love? The only thing to be afraid of is fear. It’s the thing that gets ya in the end. Bailey, four years old. My heart, my mini-me. So full of wisdom, even as such a small girl.

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What is that smell mama? I don’t know she said. It smells like strawberries in here. What did we leave in the car? Oh my word, she said. WHAT, we asked her? Look. She pointed to the back seat, the panel above the trunk. There was a pile of multi-colored goo. What was sitting here, she asked us. Oh no, on no, on no, my brother said as he cried. He covered his eyes, the way little boys do when they don’t want to see you. What was it baby, she asked him. It was sissies Strawberry Shortcake dolls. ALL OF THEM, I asked? Yes, all of them.

It’s okay buddy, I said. Really it’s okay. I have other dolls. Plus, it smells so pretty in here. It did too. For months afterward, the car smelled all sweet.

**I had probably 12 of those little strawberry shortcake dolls. The entire set. 100 degree day, black Volvo, 8 hours in the sun? They met an untimely death.

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