[Bodey]

I still remember the smell of pasta sauce sifting from the stove, the rich kind that would barely kiss your nose. My older brothers, Jim and Joe, their fart jokes and rare invites to Super Mario as Nirvana leaked out from the boombox stereo.

I used to lay back as the clock ticked around, still awake to listen to the sounds of the house, how the heat kicked on and the vents breathed in and out, with that odd sense of comfort from downstairs on the couch where my dad sat snoring with a wide-open mouth.

I miss it sometimes, the innocent life, the childhood that all my friends say they would like. That I was once comfortable being one of the guys, hitting dirt jumps with BMX bikes. An 8-year old without a care but to roll in the snow as the crisp air of New England swirled inside of my coat.