Lemons. I used to eat them all the time when I was a kid. And I do mean eat them. I don't know if I ate them simply because I liked them or because I could make my sister laugh whenever I ate one. I'd stick the lemon between my teeth, squeeze the juice out into my mouth and make a sour face. Simple as that. It got her every time.
I can't help but think of that story every time I see a lemon slice. Now as an adult though, I don't like them nearly as much. Or again, it could be that I never really did like them in the first place. It's funny how memories do that to you as you get older. Some fade away like the photos in an old photo album. The colors slowly draining out of them so you're left with something that only barely resembles the image it once was. Then there are those that stick out, in as much clarity and with as much vivid color as though it had happened only moments ago rather than years.
For me, it's like that with the lemons. I can recall their color, their texture and their oh-so-tart taste. But mostly, I remember my sister's laugh.
