Summer Nights on the Stoop

On summer nights in my neighborhood, everybody comes out. The kids ride bikes up and down the block. The older folks bring out lawn chairs. Somebody always has music playing, and somebody's grandmother is always yelling at somebody's kid to slow down.

I grew up on this block. I moved away for college and work, and for a few years I lived somewhere quieter and nicer, where nobody really talked to each other.

Last year I moved back. The first night I sat on my stoop, Mr. Henderson from two doors down walked over with a cold drink and said, "Welcome home, son." Like I'd never left.

There's an ice cream truck that still plays the same song it played when I was eight. The corner store owner still knows my order. My little cousins now chase the same fireflies I used to chase.

Some places hold you. I'm glad I came back to mine.