give those boys back their wings

A childhood memory is buried in the dark space when my eyes are closed. Its not all black. There are a million specs of white. Superimposed, is an image of me and my brother when we were young and happy. The air is cool. It's day, but the air is filled with moisture and in the background green covered mountains loom high above a tattered apartment complex.

I can smell the wet air and I can feel in on my face. I can remember his laughter. That genuine childhood laughter always breaks my heart.

We are in a field and we're funning around, just chasing each other from spot to spot in this field of joyous imagination. What were we thinking, our cold bare feet in the wet grass? We are in love with life. Soon we would learn to behave differently. Soon life would gain weight and our wings would be clipped. If I could go back in time, the only thing I would change, I would give those boys back their wings.

My brother's face is clear, framed in straight dark hair, lively dark brown eyes, a big smile, a few teeth missing, happier than I will ever see him again. Can he say the same about me? I want to run with him like that again, but I am 42 years old. In my head I hear him laugh and taunt me to come after him.
"Come on, catch me," the little boy giggles. "Come on who cares, you're old!"
And then I see my own face. And I'm missing teeth. My dark skin framed in sun streaked brown, with light brown eyes and a big grin. And I'm free again. I hadn't loss anything, I hadn't left anyone behind, I hadn't anything to regret, I'd hadn't fallen in love. I was just in love. I was just born that way.