Remembering Trevor

Last night me and my brother  
laughed about our dirty laundry and

how it would pile up in the basement 
of our yellow house on 7th avenue. 

Mom worked three nursing jobs and 
offered us a quarter for each load.

Instead, T-Tom said it made the perfect spot
for hide and seek. Until one of 

those fuzzy centipede looking 
dirt bugs, I think we’d call em’ 

would crawl out of a crusty pair 
of pants and across our mouths. 

All our friends would come over 
and practically nosedive into it.

He somehow seeps into every 
good memory of growing up.

He was the designated organizer of fun
in our little nothing neighborhood. 

Yeah, when T-Tom knocked on our front 
door on a Friday night, we knew we weren’t 

sleepin’ at all that weekend. He would get 
everyone on our block together and start a game of 

whiffle ball in our backyard. 
Third base was the tire swing on the hill. 

He’d help us duct tape our Rock Band 
drumsticks back together after a sweaty 

day of trying to get perfect scores on 
Creep and Wanted Dead or Alive. 

By Olivia Kretchman 

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