coming back home

I never thought I would ever return to this hot, small town. Once I was gone I was really gone. Driving down these curvy black roads only bring back the memories as a child. I loved it here, but I couldn’t wait to get out. The Dogwood trees were like leaves through the pine trees as I slowly rode over the old bridge above the creek we used to walk down until we hit the deep end and then we would swim with the rocks beneath touching our toes. The splashing and laughter still echoes in my ears. Driving off the bridge, I pass the house on the left whose blue wooden mailbox that was the first thing I ever hit with my car; believe me it wasn’t the last. The ivy on the side of the road still looked like the same old green and tangled ivy just a little overgrown. Pulling up to the last stop sign before home I start to think back to when we would meet in the middle of the night and sit around the stop sign. We talked, sang, caught lightening bugs, and listened to the crickets and those crickets sang their own song all night.
There it was, just in front of the stop sign. It wasn’t necessarily a big house, just a one story house with a basement. The old brick seemed to be wearing away and those turquoise shutters have not changed since the 70’s. The dogwood tree in the front yard just didn’t look the same. Nothing did really. It all seemed smaller or maybe I have just grown up too much. When I pulled into the driveway and got out of my car the air seemed really heavy. This place used to be my sanctuary, playing outside in the humid and pollen filled air, I know most people hated it but I always enjoyed playing outside. I walked into the garage that was still filled with tools and plenty of cans coke that my nana would always buy in advance on sale. All I could do is smile and shake my head. Then I was at the door that matched the shutters outside and still had the 70’s style curtains; this is what happens when you live with your grandparents who have had this house for over 20 years. Opening the door and walking in nothing has been moved but it all feels different. Picture frames still fill up every wall in the house along with rhyming birthday signs. These signs are behind the couch in the den and rhyme. For example, “Kaeli is eleven, isn’t it heaven,” and “Kaeli is fifteen a teenage queen.” This was my life growing up.
I walked outside onto the back deck that my papa built. I looked over the railing into the crystal clear pool and immediately wanted to jump in. The pool floor was reflecting in the sunlight like pebbles in the bottom of a lake. The trampoline behind the pool looked like it had not been touched in years. It was covered in leaves and pollen. The playground that we built when I was four was literally falling apart; the slide was on the ground and the swings were hanging on by one chain. Thinking about all the memories as a child made tears fill my eyes. I wanted to come back, I wish I could. There was no possible way. It didn’t feel the same. I guess you can never go back home again and it be the same. I wish it was the way it used to be; popsicles on a hot day, running down the hill in the backyard and picking the roses in the rosebush that grew up the side of the deck, playing in the little creek that ran next to the trampoline, painting the rocks we found with glitter glue and pretending we were mermaids in our pool. It will never be the same again; however, the memories will last a lifetime. I will always look back on them with a smile on my face.