The Lot

[itismeangied]

I woke up to the sound of the demolition.
It was the house at the end of the street. 

One house separates us, where the chihuahua lady lived; she had ten of them. 

Someone painted the house black. 

My wrists could feel the scraping of the backhoe against the dirt,

cracking glass and century-worn planks 

and how we walked them.

My aunt lived in there in the 90s.

You should have seen the dining room, so chic. 

My grandfather and grandmother moved in when she married the inventor. 

Who died of cancer, slowly, as did everyone on the project. 

Trips to the evangelists did little to help him, but I think my aunt got some numbers. 

My grandma got better and got worse,

then my grandpa lived alone. 

Until my dad moved in when my mom found out about his girlfriend.

I think I've heard these sounds somewhere before.

It makes me feel like I'm in a war-torn place. 

Well, I am. 

This place is not the same. 

I'm afraid to look.

It might break me to see 

the walls that hid my father from my mother, scraps of stairs we slid down as kids, the walls of the kitchen

where my grandpa made dinner after school for me and my friends. 

If anyone called at dinner, he'd pick up the phone, shout "we're eatin'!" and hang up. 

My dad built the bathroom downstairs.

I remember him placing the drywall carefully....and now it's like this.

One bored summer day, my cousins and I were throwing balled up Silly String at cars off the front stoop. 

Someone slammed on their brakes and got out. 

We ran in the house like a riot.  

"You fuckers!" my grandpa screamed at us. 

I know now that we triggered his war memories, and I miss him again. 

I was afraid of him then.

A family moved in after my dad and grandpa got their own places.  

I know the children's names because the mother yelled them all the time. 

The house broke down around them, they didn't take care. 

It's just going to be an empty lot.

Someone said there were rats everywhere.

All I can do is watch. 

The contents being pulled up and in, and dropped in a box like trash, and I wonder if my house is next.

Comments

[d0gs.livejournal.com]

I really love the description in this - I can see and feel everything so clearly!

[mollywheezy]

I love how you interlaced the present description of the house being torn down with memories of those who had lived in the house. Excellent work!

[banana_galaxy]

This feels really nostalgic and sad. It also makes me glad I haven't had to bear witness to such destruction of a place that held some meaning to me. It sounds difficult to experience.

[ofearthandstars]

This sounds like such a hard thing to witness. I grew up in so many different houses, it was hard to get attached. But now that I have my "own" home (or will if I can ever pay off the bank)...I would probably cry to see it fall into disrepair.

[marlawentmad]

Angie, you are a powerhouse. Thank you for writing. I love how you skillfully weave so many narratives, not wasting one word. You expertly created a whole portrait of a family, a neighborhood, a home, an experience.

[alycewilson]

A strong sense of place and of loss.

[erulissedances]

A beautiful portrayal of the history built into the walls and floors of a single structure.

- Erulisse (one L)

[dadi]

This is very intense!

[itismeangied]

Thank you so much, it means a lot!