Memory Week Four

While waiting for friends in Piazza Nettuno, Neptune's finely carved butt shadows over me as I watch a woman dressed in black sashay in front of a man playing a headless guitar. Sydney and I gawk for a while and I start to think of when I was fourteen and my family visited friends in Milwaukee. There, in a park, was a music festival-SummerFest.  A Steely Dan cover band rocked out under a tent next to a Dipping Dots stand and while my sister and mom went to find cookies and cream balls of ice cream, I sat on a bench carved with "T hearts J" or "RC 93." I could see the wrinkly bearded men just fine until a group of four middle aged beer holders squeezed in front of me. I particularly remember the blonde haired woman directly in front of me, who sloshed bad Heineken on my sandals and swung her hips out of tune. So today, when the woman with the red hair showing black roots flips her too short tutu  and shows off a run in her tights, I'm transported back to SummerFest.