Reminisce

In my childhood years, I absolutely loved to play these games of "pretend." Selling newspapers on a street corner, serving as the cashier at a supermarket, cutting hair for a living, anything and everything amused me.
One day, my next door neighbor, this sweet middle-aged Japanese woman known as "Mrs. Edie" invited me and brother over to make mud pies. Of course, Jason and I immediately ran over, overwhelmed at the fact that we were going to "make" something without the help of our mother.
Mrs. Edie led us to her backyard, hose poised in its position over a dirt patch. We watched as the water sputtered out, colliding with the dust to form this chocolate-colored mush. Mrs. Edie then instructed us to search through her plants, encouraging us to pick out various leaves and flowers to decorate our pies.
We then proceeded to place our hands in the mad, grabbing fistfuls and shaping them into what we imagined pies would resemble.
Afterwards, we laid them out to dry, and Jason and I impatiently sat and stared, eager to take our creations home to our mother. At that moment, I remember vaguely thinking to myself how appetizing a real chocolate pie would taste in my mouth. And then, I reasoned with myself that the mud pies had to be edible, it just made sense. I then turned my head from left to right, checking to see that no one would see me in the act. And with both Mrs. Edie and Jason preoccupied in their own worlds, I snatched my mud pie and immediately took a bite.
Ugh. Blech. Sigh. I spat out the disgusting mixture of gravel and dirt. As the pie touched my tongue, it disintegrated back into its original form, and I could not stand it. My brother, who had previously wandered to the other side of the yard, slowly ambled back. Upon seeing the half-bitten pie, my brother looked at me accusingly. I on the other hand pointed silently at the flying crow above our heads and my brother, in awe, nodded his head.
I just wanted the mud pie to be real damnit.