The house that I grew up in is for sale.
I drove past it on my way to work last week and saw the 'for sale' sign in the yard.
Driving past it meant driving several miles out of my way, but I had
an urge to see it.
I like to look at it in the summer time when the grass is green and the flowers are blooming.
It looks hopeful in the summer time.
I don't like to see it in the winter. Everything brown and gray. Except for the evergreen tree in the front yard. I bought the tree for my parents for their 25th wedding anniversary. Before we knew there wouldn't be a 35th wedding anniversary. They stopped that clock at 34 years. After they had fought for so long that they didn't fight anymore. After my mom's mom died. After my brother died. After life had given them enough permission slips to be divorced.
Part of me wants to see the house inside.
Part of me wants to buy it and board it up.
Part of me wants to burn it to the ground.
What happened in that house is all inside of me now. The carpet we stood on. The dishes we ate off of. The paneled walls. The words spoken. The unspoken.
I came to believe, growing up, that when we got new dishes, or new curtains, or a new car, that the fighting was over and that there was hope for a new beginning.
I have to figure out how to make room for that new beginning thought inside of me, next to those dishes and the paneling. But my heart is mostly boarded up and soaked in gasoline, waiting for a match.
Boardwalk Empire - Nucky Thompson Burns His Old House
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_DXoyn_p6aI
