Back then, in those days which feel so long ago, William and I, outfitted in our traditional jeans shorts and Batman and Spiderman t-shirts, would lean up against the trunk of the oak tree in the middle of his backyard. All around us, the golden leaves cascaded downwards, swaying to and fro as the broom of wind swept them across the yard. I miss those days when the leaves of youth fell, inundating us in a veil of unfettered imagination. The paint neglected fence blocked us off from the entirety of the outside world, shielding us from the inescapable truths of adult life that creep closer and closer to us with each night that passes. We would lie down, stare into the white cotton ball clouds, and relay what, in our minds, existed beyond the gate. We wondered if it was a smoldering pit of fire with bubbling masses of magma with gargoyles circling in formation up above, or if it was an enchanted forest in which we would encounter the seven dwarves, Snow White, and all of the other fictional characters that storm through our dreams, augmenting our ability to transform even the simplest things into objects of vast importance.

One day, the wall that forms the outline of our youth was left ajar, to our surprise. We reached into the endless abyss of entangled branches above our heads and removed our celestial swords from their wooden cases, preparing to fend off the inevitable approach to awareness that looms over us. We wielded our noble swords cautiously, anticipating what we might encounter as we approached the gate opening. At that moment, our eyes widened in both fear and awe as we gazed upon the physical manifestation of fear that possesses the dagger of cognizance that would soon sever through our veil of blissful ignorance. Its eyes burned like fresh embers from the bottom of a fit of fire. Its coat was comprised of wrestling shadows that wisp through the air, emitting an opaque shroud of black mist. We knew then that if we were to enable beast breach the castle walls, all hope would be lost. So with a deep sigh, we charged admirably at the monster, flailing our twigs rambunctiously, reflecting the existence of our native ancestors. With one fell swoop of our branches, the beasts cloak was lifted, revealing to us, for the first time, the outside world for what it really was. It was a drab fervor of cognizance, not something to be feared.

Beyond the gate was a sea of houses, each painted in gaudy shades of hackneyed colors. Two grown-ups were screaming, “Bailey-girl, Bailey girl, where are you?” The dog, once the embodiment of the unknown, sprang clumsily from its feigned slumber and leaped through the opening, returning from whence it came. Back on that day, which seems so long ago, we learned how to conquer our fears. We could do anything, be anything we wanted to be. However, from that day forward, the oak tree that swayed in the wind no longer retained its multitude of youthful, golden leaves. With the loss of the leaves, our innocence, our youth, and our imagination vanished, closing behind us the door of our child hood existence that shielded us from the pains of actuality. Now we are what we used to call our parents, the thing we longed for the most, grown-ups.