Of What Then Could Become

Of What Then Could Become

Faux brown siding lined the one-level home,
predating my existence. My parents
were newlyweds when they moved in.

Once I was born,
the good plates were hidden from
my butter fingers– too short to reach.
The kitchen, where I slipped;
a near concussion.

Dining room blinds
shielded the sun’s rays;
the living room magnified
the television’s speech.

Down the narrow hallway,
I heard the shriek
of my mother’s hairdryer.
The walls were a museum–
baby pictures,
“old-timey” photos.

The carpet, that brown-blue shag,
was where my grandparents
witnessed my first steps.
Look at you!
Oh, sweetie pie.

I was too young
to remember.

My bedroom’s visage was everchanging;
growing like my own,
reflecting my interests,
the changes within me.

The closet door, half-open,
was where my best friend and I
kissed boyband posters,
vandalizing them with autographs, fan mail.

At one point, the door was plastered
with calligraphy,
cranes chased by cats,
when I tried to
teach myself hieroglyphics.

I watched my
mother’s rituals of femininity
in the bathroom.
I saw her practice
shaving her legs;
my father gave himself haircuts
over the sink.

Downstairs,
the smells of
dust and vintage motor oil–
mechanical equipment was stored
with deer heads on the wall;
the wood stove;
the basement door that never fully closed.

Outside, dogs broke the silence,
Barking in the distance at street lights, stars.

The gravel driveway,
pebbles always in my shoes.
Grit against tires,
The grey clouds from rock dust.
A long country road that stretched towards the dogs.

The pine tree where piñatas were hung;
The creaking metal porch swing.

My swing set and the dug path
where my house met with my
neighbors; my best friend
just beyond.

When I wasn’t launching snowballs at
The windows, the wooden deck was my stage–
my realm where
I could play pretend.
The lead roles were chosen
without auditions;
It made sense to us.

Spell books, born of computer paper and staples,
Tree branches, our magic wands–
We repeated lines from Wizards of Waverly Place.

Imaginary games continued
when I was alone.
I was convinced that
I lived in a log cabin
after noticing one on a local trail.

I enjoyed imagining
what it would be like to exist
in the days when light bulbs
were only above people’s heads.

Before I knew it, the lights went out;
it was time to move.
She said it was
to be closer to work.

A new beginning;
a chance
to make new friends.
At a new school
where I barely knew anyone.

I didn’t have a chance to tell
my friend goodbye.
She practically jumped off
of the bus
when she saw
the moving van.
She refused to
get off the back of it,
telling my dad that I couldn’t move away.

I cried,
feeling ripped apart
from everything.
Terrified,
unsure of what
my life would be now.
Of what
it would become.
Of the people
I would meet.
The friends
I would have to lose.

Deep-seeded, like the pines
I watched grow smaller,
As we drove away,

Anxiety manifested, festered…

It was the opposite of a new beginning.