I wiped my hand over the dark green tarp around the huge trampoline in her backyard. fall had come, and leaves of brown and yellow were littered all over the contraption.
“eh, let’s just leave it.”
we took off our shoes an climbed onto black center, the leaves stuck to our socks. we jumped up and down, one after another in a bouncing syncopation. the leaves jittered up and down with every vibration, eventually gathering and huddling together into piles like little people in need of some security.
“you’re only using me for my trampoline,” she used to joke. bashedly, I disagreed. those feelings of happiness, laughter, joy would have been non-existent if it wasn’t for her presence and comedy.
after we tired of jumping, we’d lie head to head on the trampoline looking at the sky, clouds, and the big willow tree. completely serene, completely peaceful. we’d talk about school, boys, and the future. the future especially — it was going to be awesome for us.
three years ago, azarnoosh sadeghi died. her heart just… stopped. with all the medical magic and miracle we have today, her actual exact cause of death is still unknown.
and here I am. three years later. I’ve come a long way from that girl who use to lie on that trampoline talking about hunger and ambition, but I haven’t forgotten about it. we knew that we could accomplish big things and do whatever we wanted.
one day, I hope I make our 15 year old selves proud.
and if I have the space, I’m going to buy myself a trampoline — with dark green tarp.
