Summer Breeze ‘76 - Maria Angeline Pennacchi

I didn’t know there was anything extraordinary about those days, growing up in the neighborhood at the end of the railroad tracks… 

Among small homes and backyard gardens, fragrant with the smell of tomatoes on the vine, it was a time of beautiful simplicity. Kind neighbors and childhood friendships that blossomed and bloomed in moments of pure innocence; shared popsicles on a picnic bench, digging in the dirt, running through a sprinkler, climbing trees, playing at the park across the street from my home.  

I didn’t know at the time it would be so fleeting, so cherished and treasured as I looked back upon it in my adulthood.  

In that moment of time, my neighborhood was my universe, and I was a happy little girl, sprouting up under blue skies and sunshine. 

It was the summer of 1976 on West 5^th Street. The playground was alive with the sound of children playing basketball and chain link swings squeaking back and forth. A neighbor waxed his car beneath the cool canopy of a maple tree. The delicious scent of hamburgers on a charcoal grill drifted through the steamy July air, along with the smooth, gentle voice of a man singing on the radio.

“Summer breeze, makes me feel fine…”

Many of us didn’t have money for fine things like air conditioning, so neighbors sat outside on shady porches, waiting on an early evening breeze, chatting and watching us as we played.

My feet were half skipping, half excitedly running in place, as my mom patiently took me by the hand to cross the street to my best friend’s house.

“John-John!” I cried as he burst through his front door like a bullet, his mom two steps behind him as he ran down porch steps to greet me. We had important business to tend to, now that the pesky interruption of suppertime was over. Together we walked to our identical Big Wheels, still parked in front of his gate.

We were 5 years old, two best friends living directly across the street from one another, without a care in the world except playing outside and watching our favorite cartoon “Speed Racer”. 

The neighborhood was busy with cheerful activity, but my best friend and I were laser focused as we began inspecting our “cars” like expert mechanics.

I always liked to check my “trunk” before embarking on a drive, so I opened the blue plastic compartment behind the seat to ensure my rock collection and assorted twigs, deemed perfect for emergency firewood, were still in place. Naturally, we had to gas up before the drive, using a stick as our imaginary fuel pump to fill our tanks.

After a quick, refreshing drink from the hose, we were ready to tear up and down the sidewalk from corner to corner. Once seated, we pressed the “ignition button” in the center of our handlebars. It wasn’t a real button, but an assembly point where the handlebars connected to the seat. In our imagination however, it was part of a complete and complex dashboard identical to Speed Racer’s. After starting our cars, we were off at top speed, pedaling furiously with John-John in front of me. 

He was Speed Racer, I was his loyal sidekick Trixie, both of us behind the wheel of a Mach 5. My sweaty braids flew behind me as I followed my best friend back and forth, from one end of our street to the other, utilizing buttons on my imaginary dashboard, engaging weapons to fight off bad guys and deploying special tools enabling my car to jump, soar or even drive underwater… Whatever was necessary to protect myself and my best friend as we navigated the dangerous road course while battling bad guys to win the race.

We tore up and down West 5^th Street, expert level skidding, swerving and maneuvering, yanking the handbrake with all our might to perform dramatic 360’s at each corner, then pedaling furiously again to take off in a burnout, imaginary smoke coming off the wheels of our amazing race cars.

“They’ll sleep good tonight!” a neighbor laughed, standing with our moms in front of John-John’s house as we pulled up to the gate to park for another trip to the gas station and drink from the hose. The sun was setting, but we didn’t notice or care… We were covered in dirt and sweat, shirts soaked with hose water, but ready to fuel up our cars and prepare for another race. 

Trixie and Speed had no interest in baths or bedtime, but moms had other ideas and soon we were reluctantly parking our Big Wheels for the night.

An hour later, I was lying in bed, the hum of a window fan pulling the evening breeze into my room… Freshly bathed, in my summer nightgown with tiny blue flowers, I gave in to the sleepy feeling while clutching my Raggedy Ann and smiling at the thought of waking to another summer day and Big Wheel adventures with my best friend.

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Maria Angeline Pennacchi is a nature lover and life-long New Jersey resident whose creative non-fiction piece, "Summer Breeze '76," is based on vivid, happy childhood memories and totals 838 words. Her favorite place to think and write is on a bench beside the Delaware River. Her previous pieces accepted for publication include "Empty Heart" in Humans of the World, "Bench" and “Ghost of Me” with Wingless Dreamer Publisher, "Call Me Wildflower" and "Healing of a Heart Discarded" in Wilderness House Literary Review, and “Season of Healing” in The Write Launch / Novel Chapters. Most recently, her piece "In Receipt of Your Email" was accepted for publication by Half and One. Thank you for the opportunity to share her work.