I'm 8 and my brother is 7, it's summer monsoon season in Arizona and the sky has just finished dumping hours of rain on us. We're living in the trailer park, again. This time in the back of the park, in an old metal single wide with even older wooden steps leading up to the front door. My brother and I can't wait to get outside to play in the deep water that's right out front our trailer.
We're both in cut-offs, my brothers got a fresh buzz cut and my waist length hair is pulled back in double french braids. We race down the rickety steps, grab our bikes off the porch and splash into the swirling muddy water. The water that has trash floating in it along with tumble weeds and broken wooden fence pieces. We don't see the trash, just the deep water that is running past our trailer.
The road that we're riding on dips down, creating a bowl for the water. At the bottom of the bowl is a grate and this is where the water is swirling into. As we ride through the muddy water we have to stand up on our pedals so that our faces don't get wet, the water is that deep. I remember looking over at my brother, his white buzzed hair splattered with mud, seeing the huge grin (missing a bottom tooth) as he rides through the chest deep current. I remember looking up at the grey sky, happy that we'd gotten the rain, the rain that gave us the muddy water to play in.
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