It's 3am and I just went for a walk back into time. I left my house in my pajamas and retraced the years. I started out to the left. Towards my family. First I stopped to remember my neighbor. I closed my eyes and saw Ken and my Dad in the driveway working on the big blue truck. They were sitting in folding chairs, drinking beer, and listening to Jethro Tull. Hands greasy, shirts sweaty, and always with a close watch out for me as I rode my bike in the street. Sadly I open my eyes and his house is still vacant, the yard overgrown, and my dad is still gone.
I kept on walking, trying to remember just how things were in those precious golden years. Less people. Less noise. Just less.
I came to the tree were my best friend and I rode our bikes in circles under, hands not on the handle bars and laughing the whole time. How did we do it?
At the end of the road was my Grandmother's house. Every weekend I would go there to stay. Before bed she let me pick out a nightgown to sleep in, even though it would not fit me for years to come. We would wake up in the morning and she would give me coffee with lots of milk and sugar. Then we'd lie on the couch, with my head in her lap and watch TV while she scratched my back.
My aunt, uncle, and cousins lived beside my Grandmother. I never realized at the time just how lucky I was. I had half of my family right there the whole time.
As I came back to my house and headed right, I was 8 again. Walking to the bus stop for school, standing on the square, trying to be first in line. And as I stood there, I looked up and wished there would be a bus that came to take me back. Back to when Daddy and Ken were still in the yard and back to when Granny was still waiting for me to spend the night.
Every step was a memory. Some that I thought I had forgotten. And now as I type and my fingers are still cold, I wonderdo we ever really leave our pasts behind?
I kept on walking, trying to remember just how things were in those precious golden years. Less people. Less noise. Just less.
I came to the tree were my best friend and I rode our bikes in circles under, hands not on the handle bars and laughing the whole time. How did we do it?
At the end of the road was my Grandmother's house. Every weekend I would go there to stay. Before bed she let me pick out a nightgown to sleep in, even though it would not fit me for years to come. We would wake up in the morning and she would give me coffee with lots of milk and sugar. Then we'd lie on the couch, with my head in her lap and watch TV while she scratched my back.
My aunt, uncle, and cousins lived beside my Grandmother. I never realized at the time just how lucky I was. I had half of my family right there the whole time.
As I came back to my house and headed right, I was 8 again. Walking to the bus stop for school, standing on the square, trying to be first in line. And as I stood there, I looked up and wished there would be a bus that came to take me back. Back to when Daddy and Ken were still in the yard and back to when Granny was still waiting for me to spend the night.
Every step was a memory. Some that I thought I had forgotten. And now as I type and my fingers are still cold, I wonderdo we ever really leave our pasts behind?
VIEW 4 of 4 COMMENTS
brainard66:
i like your post, made me smile thinking about my own past then i got misty eyed "homesick" now
fathomtalon:
So different you and I. You like walking through your memories and I still run from most of mine. That kind of memory lane would be a waking fucking nightmare for me. 