I started this one back in November of last year… At the end you will see an update.
So I bounce across the railroad track heading north on US 17 for the one millionth time. As I cruised across the Knobb’s Creek bridge suddenly I was 17 years old again… I was driving a yellow ’72 Chevy Malibu with a black vinyl roof, listening to the Eagles blaring on the eight track tape player and trying my best to come up with some plausible story as to why I am so late getting home. I round the corner onto Rosedale Drive feeling like the car may come up on two wheels. I can see the familiar houses all lined up.. and I can see my basketball goal on my parents driveway. My mom’s old lamp is shining from the living room window as it has every night since late August ’69. I get out of my car and it is all so familiar… so affirming.
I unlock the front door and the realities of life set in. Nothing is familiar anymore… the furniture is all gone, the living room has been painted a more contemporary color… the carpet is all gone exposing 45+ year old hardwood floors… the only thing remaining that is recognizable to me is my mom’s player piano… my dad has died and my mom has moved out… moving on to the next phases of our lives… and the memories are moving out too… and it all makes me a bit sad, I have to say…. but I won’t give it up easily… So the stories are gonna keep on coming….
So now it is June. The piano is no longer there either,,. sold to some stranger. There is nothing of my youth left. The “for sale” sign in the yard seems so out of place… like a weed growing in a garden. This weekend a new ad will run in the local paper letting the world know that not only is my past for sale… the price of it is reduced… I guess the past just isn’t worth as much today as it use to be. In any case, I’m still not letting go easily… I just can’t let it go… see, there was this group of us in the neighborhood that would get together every chance we could and….. yes, the stories will indeed continue.