Do you remember when we squish-squashed our toes in the mud? When the dirt bubbled up as we laughed as much as we could run? How about when we played with the sprinklers to our mother's dismay, and grandma could only grin since we watered her greenery that day. The hose was our greatest ally and and we marked the walls with water. It was hard to say who was having more fun. We had the water up to our knees, and the flowers just giggled, tickled by the breeze.

I remembered the blanket-capes and building block shields that we made one day. We ran around the garage times three, with the street lights up and the dark sky, rainy. Dad was working in his office then, so we had to save him for dinner in ten. Our neighbor saw the spectacle of you and me, and asked us bemused, "Is it Halloween?" It wasn't, we smiled, and continued our quest, since who knew what monsters lie ahead.

You told me you were a robot once, and I believed you completely. You told me you lived in the mountains by home, and if I left the room and closed my eyes, you'd be gone. I'd leave and come back and you'd still be there, and I believed when you said you teleported there.

Some things never change. I still am gullible and believe everything and you still have some of the best stories. I may be a little disappointed you're not a robot; since I've always wanted to teleport. We've still got our monsters, and we've still got our dreams. We've armed our tongues with swords and bolstered our brains with shields. Either way, I know we'll be fine... Beaming triumphantly.