Mom’s spaghetti


It is the summer of 1997, I am 10 years old, and my twin sister and I have spent nearly every day at our best friend’s house since summer break started.

Every day after breakfast we would walk through the park, through the gap in the fence around the schoolyard, and knock on her door to ask her mom if she could come outside to play. We would sit on the front lawn and belt along with Mariah Carey and the Spice Girls blasting out of her CD player, sometimes we would walk to the gas station to spend our crumpled dollars on candy and blue slush, and our

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