“My God, it still looks the same.” The heavy whisper to herself ushered in the faint smell of Lay’s potato chips she had in her car a few minutes earlier. She laughed to herself, realizing that the current family didn’t bother to put up a fence in the front or backyard. I guess it wasn’t meant to be for this house to ever have a fence!
The tall oak tree that once stood in the front yard was no longer there, eerily exposing the house’s white trimmed front porch that complimented its all-red brick structure. Disappointment set as she remembered the oak tree. That was the same oak tree that used to house a family of robins every spring. “Careful, she’s gonna get you,” her father would laugh, referring to the feisty protective mother robin who would zoom down and fly within inches of anyone’s head who came to close.
It had been over 30 years, and the house was still very much etched into her memory as if she’d never left. The window over the front porch stairs was the dining room. Her parents picked such a strange color for those walls; an opaque pink that didn’t match the chocolate brown leather chairs, sea blue carpet or wicker chairs that sat in the adjoining living room. She’s spent hours in that living room. That’s where the main record player was kept, her father’s record collection always kept her intrigued; from Herbie Hancock to James Brown, to Jimmy Swaggart…just interesting. The old Prince Nico albums of the West African singer wearing huge white go-go boots with mega-block platforms and a multi-colored blue and white jumper used to crack her and her brothers up. Especially with his lopsided afro.
“Man, I wonder what my old bedroom looks like!” She smiled, shifting her gaze up to the window that sat above the dining room window. The collection of New Edition and LL Cool J posters on the slanted ceilings framed the rest of the room that had clothes strewn on the floor and notebooks scattered on her father’s old office desk where she did her homework. Her light-colored wooden dresser used to be riddled with endless products of hair oil-sheens, lotions and her mom’s left-over Avon products, including an ever-present bottle of Skin-So-Soft body oil. The old radiator that sat next to her closet was covered with a faded white protector gate, echoing the house’s age while her preteen preferences battled it for prominence.
The old home welcomed so much family and friends over the years. The kitchen, living and dining rooms were always the busiest, hosting noisy get-togethers, birthday parties and Sunday visits from uncles, aunts and cousins. She and the other children would play in the backyard while her mother and aunts boiled, fried and baked up stews, fried rice and other endless dishes from their homeland. The men often confined themselves to the living room shouting at each other over political preferences or childhood memories on who did what in high school. Those noisy and loving times died down over the years.
She couldn’t remember the last time she saw most of her folks. Painfully, she was reminded once again that some of them were gone, joining the vault of memories and what used to be.
She closed her eyes and fastened her lips together, attempting to make her flashback a present-day reality. Her father would be in the kitchen, recapping his workday with her mother while her and her elder sister lay upstairs in her bed, chatting it up, gawking about their latest crushes on the hottest sweatsuit-gold-chain-wearing entertainer. Many times, those conversations would go far and wide.
“One of these days, you’re going to burst,” her sister told her during one of those conversations, asserting that she would not stay quiet and bottle up what she was feeling or thinking. “You’re gonna get things out one way or another.”
Opening her eyes, she blinked rapidly, not feeling any tears. A deep breath ensued. This was the first time she hadn’t cried since losing her sister and father. Maybe I’ve done enough bursting to balance myself out, she thought to herself. Then something out of the corner caught her eye. A man had appeared from the back of the house, looking at her suspiciously.
“Okay, time for me to go,” she realized with conclusion. She put her car from park to drive and made her way down the quiet road. She looked in her rear-view mirror, wondering if he’d come to the front of the house to confront her or ask her to go away. Instead, she saw the cherry blossom trees adorn each side of the street, forming a beautiful tunnel of pink and white petals as the road narrowed. She smiled, remembering their annual presence they never failed to make each spring.
“The cherry blossoms,” she reminisced, “those are always pretty, but those honeysuckles…yeah.” She turned onto the main road, wishing she could pluck one of the long, tube-shaped blooms and taste the sweet filling that gifted her every time as a child. “Those were the best.”