Remembering Part 1

I’ve never left home before, but I’m going to very soon.  I’m finally going to leave my home and my family to move to another country with my future husband.  Even in college, I attended the school that’s twenty minutes away from my house.  I’ve always had the comfort that comes with living with your parents and not having to worry about anything – except what to do on the weekends and homework. 

Before I fly away, I want to remember my hometown.  I want to remember where I grew up, where I played, where I used to hang out, where I went to school, where I first fell in love, and where my heart broke for the first time.  I do know that I’ll be back for Christmas, but, after that, I have no idea when I’ll be back.  Not knowing when I’ll be able to come home makes my eyes water.  So I fight back the tears and set out to visit my old house.

I drive down the old familiar road back to the house where I grew up and spent the majority of my childhood.  It’s a bright sunny day and there are a few clouds that are lazily making their way across to the other side.  The little ones seem to be chasing the bigger ones.  I have the window down in my car, and I can feel the warm humid air rush in and spilling into the car.  It hits my face and plays with my hair.  I’m going to miss this - the humidity. 

The road is pretty long and straight.  It’s almost as if I’m driving into the country that hasn’t moved on with the times and is still stuck in the past.  At one point, there are new brick houses on my left which gives the only indication that we’re in twenty first century, and on my right there’s a farmer on his tractor going through the field of corn.  I’m pretty sure that years ago all this used to be farm land, and the piece that the farmer is on now is all that’s left of what used to be a glorious farm. 

I remember, one night, I was driving back from Wal-Mart and was pulled over by a police man.  I had to buy a binder for my research paper that I was writing for one of my classes.  It was late at night and as there are no street lights on this road, I had my high-beams on.  I wasn’t paying attention when a car was approaching.  I had a delayed reaction and turned off the high-beams a little late.  As soon as I pulled into my neighborhood, I notice the all too familiar flashing blue lights.  I had no idea what I did!

“Good evening mam.”  The old cop said as he peered into my car.

“Hello.”

“Where are you heading?”

“Home”

“Where do you live?”

“Right down the street.  You pulled me over in my neighborhood.”

“What were you doing out so late?”

“I had to buy a binder for my research paper.  See the Wal-Mart bag in the passenger seat?”  I asked pointing to the white plastic bag next to me.

“Do you know why I pulled you over?”

“No”

“You had your high beams on and turned them off a little late.  I’ll let you go this time, but be careful not to do it again.”

The whole thing made me mad then, and it still makes me mad.  He must’ve been really bored that night and was just looking for something to do, and I was that someone to bring him out of his boredom. 

As I get closer to my old neighborhood, I see the familiar sign welcoming me – a little ways down from it is where I had the conversation with that cop.  They’ve actually improved the sign.  When we first moved here, it was nothing but a wooden sign with fancy letters to form the name, some wood lattice work for a little decoration, and a few flowers in the little garden to separate the incoming and outgoing traffic.  Now, it’s a stone sign with all kinds of pretty and colorful flowers.  I guess whoever landscaped it achieved their goal in having the sign welcome everyone in. 

I turn left, and go down a slope that curves to the left.  The old familiar blue house is sitting on the corner on the right.  I remember the family that originally built that house, but I have no idea who lives there now.  Then, I turn right and go down the big hill that I used to love going down all the time as a kid.  Every time I went out of town or if I was just coming home from anywhere, going down this hill would signify that I’m home.  I used to ride my bike down this hill as a kid and see how fast I could go.  Some of my friends and I would push each other down skateboards on this hill too. 

One day I was riding my bike, I saw a rattlesnake on my right as I came to the top of the hill.  I had no idea what to do.  My whole body started to shake and I felt like my heart was going to explode out of my chest.  The only thing I could do was turn around and race home as fast as I could.  My dad came as well as Grady – the old man who lived in the blue house – to find the snake. 

As the hill levels out, I come to an intersection.  I used to catch the school bus here, and I can see the three houses that I knew in their infancy.  The one on my immediate left was my friend’s grandparents’ house.  When they were varnishing their wood floors, I walked on it with my shoes and they had to do everything all over again.  I didn’t know.  I was just a kid then.  The house across the street from them was Travis’ house.  He had two horses, and I can see the fence for them is still there.  I wonder if the horses are still there.  Then the house across the street from his is Melissa’s house.  Her parents have built it up some, and I can see her dad still doesn’t cut the grass under the tall slender pine trees.  His logic was that he didn’t want to disturb any seeds that had fallen so more trees could grow.  Before we moved, I used to wonder if those tall giants would crash onto the house whenever we had storms.  It used to scare me when remnants of hurricanes would blow their way through our area.  You could see the trees bending this way and that allowing the needles to brush against the house – teasing it.  Now it almost looks like he has a jungle in his yard. 

I take a right turn on my old street and I can see my old house come into view.  There’s three acres of land with no trees except for the magnolia tree that’s towards the bottom of the driveway - which has grown since we left.  The old house is still the red brick house of my childhood with its white trim, white window shutters, and black roof.  The front porch that stretches the full length of the front of the house is still white too.  All the flowers and bushes that we planted over the years are still there.  The red tip bushes that my mom planted are humongous now.  She didn’t want to have a fence between us and the neighbors, so my parents planted red tip bushes.  They also planted them to hide the vegetable garden in the back.  I remember I used to hate watering the vegetable garden in the summer.  It gets so hot and humid during the summer – even in the evenings!  There would be ants and all kinds of bugs in there too - and I hate ants.  The rows in the garden were so little that you could hardly walk.  I could barely walk sideways in the rows! 

Then, I look at the window on the left that’s upstairs which used to be the window to my bedroom.  The window in the middle is the bathroom that my sister and I shared, and her bedroom is the window on the left.  Well, it used to be her bedroom.  In my mind, though, they will always be her bedroom, our bathroom, and my bedroom.  Ah, how I miss this house. 

My old house is in a cul-de-sac.  We used to have so much fun in this circle when we were little.  My best friend, my sister, and I used to play tennis here.  Well, at least we tried to to play tennis.  I think it just ended up being a contest of who could hit the ball the hardest, and see how far we could make it go.  I used to ride my bike here too.  Every 4th of July, when we were little, my dad would light fire crackers for me and my sister.  We used to have a lot fun in this little circle made of asphalt. 

As I turn around in the cul-de-sac, I can just see into the backyard.  All of my mom’s fruit trees and her carefully landscaped flower garden are still there.  My mom meticulously planned out the flower garden that was in the backyard.  Every time we went to the mountains, on vacation, she would bring back stones from the river to put in her garden.  As a kid, I always thought it was funny and crazy that someone would want to bring back stones as a souvenir.  Just before we moved, I finally realized why she did it those crazy things.  The stones actually made the garden pretty – gave it a bit of character. 

I remember my mom would put on a straw hat, a long sleeve shirt, long pants, and her rain boots to go work on her flowers.  She didn’t want to get sunburned, so she covered up every inch of skin she could.  Working in the heat all covered up allowed her to lose weight by sweating too.  On the weekends, she would work all day outside.  At times, she would come into the garage panting asking for a glass of water or some sweet tea.  I could see her face moist with sweat and beads of it hanging off her eyebrows, or making a little path down her dirty face to her chin.  She would pull out all the invading weeds and sometimes rearrange the delicate flowers.  Sometimes, I would help her with the weeds.  I would gather up all the little dead foreign soldiers and put them into the wheel barrow, and make a pile of them in the backyard. 

All the hard work and love my mom poured into her flowers is still there.  I’m thankful that the new owners are taking care of them.  For some reason if they didn’t take care of them, I would be a little hurt and disappointed.