A three year old girl arrives at this place
With a mom and a dad and two big sisters
A
dog and a cat
And
three bedrooms to share.
She
feels lucky.
And
a beige rug that holds the sunlight and shadows
From
the picture window
On
magical afternoons.
At
413.
Arborite
kitchen shelves to climb up
To
watch her mom make brownie cake and fried chicken.
A
hidden cutting board that slides out of the countertop
Just
the right height when she sits on the red metal stool
To
make a cup of cocoa with her dad.
She
feels lucky.
A great big basement with a swing
And
open stairs to dangle a fishing line from.
Who
knew what her sister might tie to the end of it!
Wooden
orange crates on the ping pong table are a Barbie doll village.
And
the corner in the back, a private spot for shining sunday school shoes.
At
413.
A ten year old girl grows up in this place
With
friends on the street
Classmates
at school
And
far-away cousins that visit sometimes.
She
feels lucky.
Skipping double-dutch in the driveway
Hopscotch on the sidewalk
Naughty
games of knock-on-ginger before she’s called in
By
her dad’s black whistle
Blown
three times.
At 413.
She climbs into her bed
With
the heart-shaped wicker headboard
And admires the yellow flowered wallpaper
The
door open just a crack so the hallway light
Will give her some connection with her family
Still
up watching tv.
She
feels lucky.
A
teenage girl rebels in this place
When
phone calls need to be long and private
She can stretch the cord into the broom closet
And
almost close the door.
Lucky.
When she is crying and heartbroken
She
can slam and storm
And
tear up pictures
Blast
the stereo with the maddest songs she can find
Her sisters stay cool
And
her parents do too
Even
when she screams
I
HATE YOU
413
stays stable
Solid.
Lucky.
A grown-up girl leaves this place
But
When she wants to return
To escape
Or
mourn
To celebrate
Or to help her old mom and dad
She finds the house standing firm
Waiting
patiently for her.
She
feels lucky.
Now
With her parents moved away
She sits quietly
Alone
In
the empty bungalow
With
her final farewell thoughts
She knows how lucky she was
To grow up in the bungalow
In
the middle of the block
At
four thirteen.
Lucky
413.
©Conni Cartlidge, 2013
Awww, Conni, simply beautiful writing. Indeed, four-thirteen and five-0-five housed a lot of love, safety, and cherished memories. And camper trailers. And Chinese chops.Canteloupe and ice cream. And Hallowe'en terror. Above all, enduring and loving friendships. Thank you for sending this chapter. xo
ReplyDeleteThanks T! So many memories in those three-bedroom bungalows!
ReplyDelete