Sophie averted her eyes from the grave markers as she passed the cemetery. Memories arose unbidden. Try as she might, she couldn’t help but remember those wild nights, mop-headed boys and girls in tank tops and cutoffs. She’d spent many nights with them in her youth dancing, drinking, smoking. Now, they rested behind that iron gate, or they should.

Sophie’s back ached, and her hip hitched with each step as she approached her house on the next block. Sound assaulted her setting the memories whirling. Light flared across the lawn. She stopped on the front steps, considering turning back, when the door flew open.

Inside, a haze of smoke clung to the ceiling, and the tang of liqueur hung in the air. The mop-headed boy at the door yelled, “Sophie’s here!”

The crowd of chaotic writhing bodies screamed her name above the blaring music, and a police car pulled up. A young cop climbed out and called, “Miss Sophie, the neighbors’re complaining again.”

She brushed past him on her way to his patrol car, where she demanded, “Come on then, or no one’ll sleep tonight.”

“That’s not necessary. I just--” he started, but Sophie cut him with a motion to the door. He obediently opened it for her. “Are you sure about this?”

Sophie climbed in and leaned back. “You ever hear you can bring a person back to life by remembering?”

“That so?”

Sophie closed her eyes as the lights in the house winked out. “So I’ve heard.”

Image created from a photo by Mauricio Mascara