Beverly Hills, a little sector of the United States’ best city: Chicago, has no semblance similar to the wealthy, celebrity-stocked, and affluent West Coast community in Los Angeles. My residence is tucked away in a niche on the Southwest side of Chicago. Beverly is a gentrified neighborhood composed mainly of Irish, Polish and German families which are entirely Catholic. It is littered with church after church and school after school filled with preppy football and volleyball athletes. . Our only link to downtown and the more exciting Northside is the Metra train on which all working adults and commuting students ride. The kids walked around in huge groups making pilgrimages from the playground to Starbucks, “the place to be” for kids twelve and thirteen. This is the quiet and cohesive town that our family moved to when I was young child.
When my family moved in, I was four and my sister, Steph, was six. We were the cutest toddlers in the town but our happy grins were only a façade for our true personalities. Like all little children, Steph and I had evil hidden agendas waiting to be hatched upon the unsuspicious neighbors. We would construct an oligarchy, with us the supreme rulers and with our neighbors’ children as the subjects. The only problem that existed was a lack of followers. There was one kid on the whole block, which was the boundary of the realm due to our young ages. But Nora, the single child in the vicinity, was extremely gullible and therefore was a prime specimen for aiding us in expansion when our peripheries could broaden.
Soon, the block had another resident and luckily brought two twins with them. Natalie and Magda were younger than Stephanie and myself so we would be able to control them. Our clandestine regime incorporated the twins making us five strong. With a greater work force, our oligarchy could then build forts and such in our backyards for scheming. Our main goal was to commandeer our neighbors yard because it was a pivotal region for maintaining stable control.
The neighbor, whose name shall not be mentioned, was a sour and unpleasant middle-aged women whose specific instructions were for the gang to go in her garden. This decree only made it more enticing to play in this forbidden forest. That is were the trouble begins.
Her lot was the most fantastic place to be at the time. It had bushes that we would weave in and out of, a swing for four, secret passageways by the garage and side of the house, vines to swing on, wood to build clubhouses with, a cat cemetery surrounded by blue bell flowers, platforms to jump off of and gigantic bees that we would battle for possession of the driveway when the lady wasn't home. But of course we would be surprised by her and be admonished for breaking her regulations. Multiple times, our parents would be confronted by her with orders to keep their children out but we never heeded her warnings.
As time passed and as we matured, the group soon annexed the parks under our rule so the gaze was turned away from that mystical garden to more achievable goals. However when Stephanie began eighth grade, she resigned from her position and took the twins with her. Nora and I continued the legacy gaining one or two territories but within a few years, our active involvement ceased. The little children reclaimed the playgrounds and the empire ended as all things must.