It is such a weird, weird feeling to know that I will never again set foot in 308, the house I used to live in.
On Tuesday, while I was at work, my wife Brenda met my sister Denise at 308 to help with the final ritual of clearing the space, cleaning, packing, shuffling its remaining castoffs to Goodwill. I joined them in the evening to complete the culling. 308 stood empty. It was ours no longer.
I took a last look in each bare, silent room, from basement to attic. I saw where our little pool table used to be, where Dad had his baseball memorabilia, where Mom had her jazz and Broadway LPs. The driveway where my brother Art's ill-fated Alfa Romeo once sat. The backyard where my brother Rob tried to teach me how to throw a football. The living room where Denise introduced me to a TV show called The Monkees. The kitchen where we ate macaroni and meatballs, and hot dogs, and beef stew, and carrot cake, and breakfast cereal, and Friday night fish fry, and so much more. My old room, where I listened to music, read comic books, tried to write, tried to draw, tried to dream.
I remember. My memories of 308 are a kaleidoscope, a collision of colors that refuse to cede their distinct hues as time forces them--all of them--to turn to gray, no matter what vibrance they wish to retain. The brilliance remains in my mind's eye.
Our work done, our cars packed, Brenda, Denise, and I walked out of 308. We closed the door and it locked behind us. We drove away. We had driven away from 308 so many times before, always knowing we could and would return.
Until now.
The new owners are moving in today. I hear they have a dog, which is cool. A long time ago, we used to have a dog named Bear, and Bear was a part of our family at 308. We wish 308's new family a life of love and happiness in the house we used to live in.
Yeah, it's a weird feeling. My twinge of sadness will pass. My wealth of recollections will remain. Farewell 308.
I feel this! When my dad died (mother had passed 6 years previously) Joe and I cleaned out and fixed up the house on Kirby Drive where I had spent the majority of my youth and my parents well over 40 years. A few years ago the house went on the market again and one of my childhood best friends and I were allowed to do a walk thru. It was so weird, as the folks selling had done some major renovations. But there were little things that had no changed, things no one but me would notice; the way the light switch in my bedroom closet sounded when you turned it on, the way the inside of the kitchen cabinets looked (they refaced but didn’t actually replace) and similar. Ah, the memories! Eleanor
ReplyDeleteBig Hugs! Wishing you even better things coming!
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