Growing up we didn't use matches except for a few magical days a year. And now, even thirty some years later, that sulfurous, nose burning, acrid scent takes me back.
Back to the glow of birthday candles as they flickered atop white frosted, flower strewn chocolate cakes. To the anticipation of presents, the camaraderie of family and the special feeling of being Queen for a Day.
Matches ignited charcoal briquettes and tikki torches around that 60ís suburban patio, but those are not the events that come back to me.
Forever, the first strike of a match will be my time machine that transports me to birthdays of my childhood, long past.