Our old house was on 6809 Old Post Road. “That’s right,” I can remember hearing my mom say. “Sixty eight oh-nine Old Post Road.” It was fun to say, the words tumbling off my tongue like little rocks. Sixty eight oh-nine Old Post Road. For the first five years of my life, it was the center of the world.
The house was two stories high, part of it brick, the other part wood. There was a big yard rolled out in back, with a tree house for me to climb whenever I wanted. The best part about our house, though, was the enormous school behind our backyard. If I climbed up on the tree house I could see it, like a big city right behind me. The big kids went to the big school, and sometimes they would play music right near the fence to my backyard. It was a birthday present, my mom told me. They were playing music for me on my birthday.
Old Post Road was always the best road, I had thought. It had lots of brothers and sisters nearby to keep it company. McLaughlin was the oldest, and Coatbridge was his best friend. There was little McIlroy and her sister Knell. Knell had a big brother, Donegal, and a big sister Knickerbocker. Old Post Road liked his cousin Beechdale the most, however; they would always be close friends. It was easy to make stories about Old Post Road, even if they weren’t true. It was my world, and I could make it whatever I wanted.
Even after we moved to our new house, Mom and Dad would drive back to our old house to see how it was doing. I never forgot where it was – sixty eight oh-nine Old Post Road. Every time we returned, though, I noticed new things. Different things. Why didn’t I notice them earlier?
The school behind our old backyard, East Mecklenburg High School, must have been turned into a jail. Just looking at it made me scared, not like a place where I would go to play with Nathan and listen to music – not even if it was my birthday. I didn’t like seeing all the old neighbors’ yards, full of angry wire fences and unruly grass that was taking over the pavement. I didn’t like seeing the “for sale” signs at every other house, or the old pool club with its snack shack crumbling like a stale cracker. I couldn’t even remember the names of Beechdale Drive and Coatbridge Lane, but it didn’t seem to matter because each road in my old neighborhood felt the same.
It was strange to go back to 6809 Old Post Road. I could hardly believe that it had been the center of my world.
Time really is a useful 4th dimension...that house really is as you remembered it (I know, I was there!), and it is as you describe it today. And there will be new observations to add to what that house is in the years to come.
ReplyDeleteFunny how at one point in time something can seem like everything, then later in retrospect it is just a speck and we have only our memories to remind us how important just a speck can be.
Dad