The Lemongrass Treasure  − March, 1997

 We were the best of friends. Inseperable. We could finish eachother's sentences. I spent every weekend at her place, sleepover 3 nights in a row. She had a friendly, round face, freckles and clean, long, blonde hair. And eyes that brewed ideas of imaginary places and perfectly characterised people. 

 There was a park down the road from her house, sandpit, swings, slide. And a fence separating us from a wild tangle of grass and a deep ditch. it didn't take us long to realise that to get to the other side was our ultimate goal, after already constructing an airplane completely made of sand, and touching the shade cloth with our feet from the swing. 

 It just so happened that we could squeeze through a gap in one section of the fencing, just. Once we were through, we marvelled at our mischeivity and trapsed through the secret world behind the fence. She pointed out a collection of small, yellow flowers on thick green stems. Her sister or an older friend must have shown her the secret of lemongrass, plucking them out and chewing the ends, twisting her face into a sour grin. 

 I told my mother about the magical lemongrass when I got home, removing and disgarding the part where we trespassed onto private property. "That's disgusting. Cats wee on those". Next time, I silently refused the sour treat.