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photo #1: the front yard
oh boy, here we go. my eyes are stuck on the stone wall that mom built herself, guarding the front yard. I am 13 again, and I am waiting for the school bus. it’s too early for this shit. I pick a pink apple off the ground and all too meticulously search the surface for sign of a worm before taking a chomp. (remember that one book, “the berenstain bears learn about strangers”? if you don’t [you probably don’t], consider yourself lucky. that one image of a worm curled up inside of an apple is permanently burned into my brain.) anyways, the stand—mom’s produce stand. take something, leave money in the box: trust. mrs. fagan enjoyed kale and eggs more than I ever could or ever will.
photo #2: the backyard
first, let me say: the views: gorgeous. I wish I had made use of them then. snow covers everything in sight but in my head are the fresh blueberry and blackberry and black raspberry bushes, and the wild baby strawberries at my feet. wait, I see something else too: the soccer net. tattered and torn, loose and lopsided. peeking out of the snow. I suppose it’s been a while since it has felt love. my eyes shift toward the shed and the garage. bright teal. I realize now that I must have inherited mom’s taste, and for that I should be grateful. farther out, I see it: the tractor. dad always wanted a tractor. now he has had one. and at last, I see the barn. lined with dust and must and dirt and bat shit and mice shit but I guess I don’t mind because it feels like home. I don’t know why my brain chooses to remember what it remembers.
1. the soft wood-soaked air wraps me in its arms as I dangle my feet over the barn door ledge. cleo sits on a rock and bats at a bug and mom waters the flowers. I am 10 again. where will my imagination take us today? 2. I am sobbing and sobbing and the tears won’t stop and I forgot my sketchbook at school and I’m not going to get a good grade in art class and this is too much everything is too much I’m not perfect oh my god I can’t breathe I messed up and I’m sorry for crying I’m sorry for crying I’m sor… why do I remember this? 3. do you remember that scene in mamma mia! where donna climbs up the ladder in the old goat house and peaks through the door to spy on harry, sam, and bill? I always felt like I was in that scene. 4. we are having a barn sale and toys and clothes and memories are for sale but there is lemonade and cookies and we are happy.
photo #3: the front porch
the snow here looks different: unsmoothed. the porch: unswept. fresh tracks: bootprints. and pawprints.
photo #4: the entryway
brrrr…it's freezing out there! careful, don’t let the snow melt everywhere. at last I can be cozy and warm in the spongebob pajama pants that are now practically up to my knees but I’m not ready to part with them. and smell the christmas tree because it’s winter break and just do nothing and play with my dolls and play video games and laugh and play and just be. even my dad is wearing his jammies, making hot cocoa fresh on the stove.
photo #5: the living room
my—I mean nellie’s—beanbag. I never realized how worn out it was. it was mine, then she sorta took over, and of course we let her, because even at 14, she’ll always be our baby dog.
photo #6: my a bedroom
on top of the red bookshelf: the fish tank. I may not remember their names but I remember how hard I cried each time that one passed. I wouldn’t let dad flush them, so we buried them in the yard. we still have that fish tank in the new living room. it sits empty—no fish, no water, just rocks—as a reminder of what no longer is. but it’s okay, by now it blends in.
photo #7: my parents’ a bedroom
oh my god, before we look at the room, we gotta do my favorite thing: climb up the ladder, onto the ledge, and thump! onto the bed. don’t worry, it can be our little secret, nobody’s home. I wonder if the new owners replaced the tiny box of a tv from 19whatever, or if they too are trying to prevent their husbands from turning into ipad babies. anywho, what do you wanna watch?
photo #8: my sister’s a bedroom
hot pink walls. now she favors duller tones. the floor: clean and vacuumed—this is probably the only time I’ve seen it this way. well, besides the days I would be presented with a basket of new hand-me-downs to try on and hang up. it’s the middle of the afternoon and I’m bored so let’s go bother her. let’s push her buttons a little too far but it’s okay because we’re 9 years old. it’s okay to be annoying and a little too blunt when you’re 9 years old. when we speak now it is in tongues—recycled inside jokes from 2012. but somewhere in between our one-word jokes and funny accents lies I’m sorry and I am you and I am nothing like you and I don’t like you and remember, we grew up together. we could have so much to talk about. or at least that’s what I think.
photo #9: the dining room
red and white pin-striped wallpaper lines the walls. somehow, it works, but simultaneously reminds me of a circus tent. I wonder if that’s why we laughed more back then.
photo #10: the kitchen
I used to hate the pale yellow oddly textured walls and the dark green cabinets, but now, I get it. most people just don’t have taste. this summer I painted my desk dark green and…do I smell cookies? oatmeal raisin? let’s sit down and eat! the table is round and sits in the center of the room, like it was built for conversation. maybe if we get a round table again we'll have more to talk about... like real people do
