The youngest generation plays the game now. I sit on the back porch of the house that once belonged to my great-grandmother, listening as the childish shouts of my nieces and nephews fill the air.
The sun is setting; the sky tinged amber and violet. The smell of mint and basil that has always grown wild in the backyard is strongest at this time of day. Dinner will be ready soon. My mother and her siblings, the oldest generation now, are busy in the kitchen, have been for hours. The savory aroma of garlic and onions slips tantalizingly through the screen door.
My first cousins and siblings sit around the table in the kitchen, telling stories of our youth and playing a card game. I remember my oldest cousin teaching me the game the children play now. I wonder when we stopped making new memories, content only to re-tell stories we already know.
“Auntie, you’re it!” My youngest niece yells from the yard.
I leap from the porch. “Green light!”