The House I May Not Return To by Blake Riley

It's New Hampshire, 2002, and I was having the time of my life. Our family had a house on a lake in New Hampshire for generations. I didn't know it then, but this would be one of the most sad memories I would have of my family. The single most time I remembered vividly was roasting marshmallows and hotdogs on a huge bonfire on the beach next to the lake. It was so dark, you couldn't see anything outside the light of the flames. I remember the orange, flickering faces around the fire; the trees lit up around us like they where on fire. This is most likely the last time the whole Riley family would and could ever be together. It was probably the place where the smell of fire became a good one to me; I remember the smoke mixed with the salt from the lake made it seem like a dream. The sound of the fire was nothing compared to the family talking, children crying, and people eating. My father and Uncle Greg had been jet skiing earlier that day, and they where saying "Holy crap that was fun" and "Almost broke your leg there Steve"; My father probably said "Ya lets do it again", and then he broke his leg while riding the ski and we had to leave. My Uncle Greg would pass away the next year from getting hit on his motorcycle by an eighteen wheeler, and his sister, my Aunt Brenda, would go back to Philadelphia to live with her husband. My Uncle Brian won't talk to us because of disputes selling the place. I miss his wife Pam and their two children sometimes, they where the sweetest kids. My aunt Jen and Uncle Paul are the only family we still meet and communicate with. Their daughter Meagan was an infant, and her sister Erin wasn't even born yet. They are my cousins, and I have vivid memory's of them throughout their lifetime. I remember Aunty Jen leaning over and helping me with my marshmallows to make s'mores. We didn't have enough chocolate, but it was still delicious. The separate families where slightly split up but still together; My father, mother, brother and I; Uncle Brian, Aunt Pam, and their first son; Aunty Jen, Uncle Paul and Meagan; Uncle Greg, Aunt Brenda, and my Grandmother together. In groups but still together. I always either burnt the marshmallows to a charred crisp, or took them out too soon. But there is always that one that is just right. I remember venturing my marshmallow soldier into the fiery death of the battlefield, and if he was lucky he would come out a golden brown hero. My grandmother was also there; she is the greatest lady around. My grandfather passed when my dad was in his twenties, and she has been living life to the fullest on her own. The greatest and strongest moment I remember the most was the ecstatic glow on everyone's faces, and how our family will never be like that again. I will never return to this place of bliss, never sleep in its bunk beds, never see the people who loved it so much. That place is simply a memory now, and with that I must live.