The good from the bad

I climb the steep wooden stairs to the patio littered with leaves, reach through the screenless screen door, but the door is locked. The window. I drag a chair and awkwardly vault myself inside, and there it is: flashback. I used to climb into your window all the time, little kids just messing around. I wore a brown shirt, tan shorts. This hoodie. We got so messed up once, you couldn't keep your hands off me. Teaching you boys to shoot with cheap whiskey. I said no and you told me no. Yellow with the palm trees. I doubt you remember. I forgave you. Crawling on the floor after me and reaching, saying the grey shadows were after you, saying stay and take care of us. I escaped, and drove home like Cinderella. Swing swing.