It was a warm mid summer evening the last time I drove by the house on Holgate. In a passing glimpse I saw that it had been painted and the ugly old brick planter by the porch was gone. The big “picture window” had been replaced with a bigger window, modern and surely more energy efficient. The house was lit up, the front door wide open. For the first time since I was nine years old, I could see inside my childhood home.
They were having a soirée. Warm light illuminated the scene in the living room which was full of people, some seated around the room, some mingling. There was music, but I only heard the thudding bass as we drove by.
It must’ve been a housewarming party. A young couple, newlyweds, maybe gay, bought the mid-century ranch style and updated everything. This was the big reveal, a celebration with all their best friends.
I almost asked my driver to go around the block so I could see it again. I would liked to have parked out front and gawked for a minute. I wished I could go inside and see the place. I’m sure there would be no trace of my years in that house. But that’s my tree shading their backyard.
It was just a stick I’d stuck in the dirt in my pretend garden some 55 years ago. The stick took root and grew into a huge tree; a locust, I think. I always look, when passing by, to see how big my tree has grown. It’s still there, the tree that knew me then.
Never in all the trips past my childhood home had I seen such glowing energy there. The old place looked new and alive and I felt curiously happy for the house on Holgate.
Daily Prompt – Ode to a Playground