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A Trip (Unproofed)
A Trip (Unproofed)
This is a couple years old, but I like it.
"I'm currently visiting my Granny (Southern charm for grandmother on my mother's side)in my home town. It's been several years since my last visit, and as usual, some things have changed...but most things haven't. Funny isn't it? How the really important things never change? The very things we need to identify, to find that place in our hearts we tend to ignore or choose to forget as we grow.
Well here I am, and thank GOD here they are. The tinge of dismay I'd felt upon driving up the driveway was shortlived. There are always certain conflicts with memory that have to be accepted. So the house was painted a different color, and there were railings on the steps that acsend to the porch. So what? The steps are the same. The same foot high concrete slabs I'd learned to climb on my hands and knees as child with too many scars for trying to grow up too fast. Now I watched as Granny heaved over them cautiously. Me bolting up behind to secure her.
The first things I noticed as we entered were the new carpeting and linoleum, and of course, after all these years, ceiling fans! Couldn't help a lump of jealousy over that one. But there was something there...something creeping out of a shadow in my memory, and I stood still.
Suddenly, like a breaze though fallen leaves, I realized how old I was. How tall I stood. how thick and muscular my limbs.
I almost laughed.
It wasn't the new mailbox, or the new washer and dryer set, or the carpet, nor those blasted fans.
It was me. I had done all the changing.
I felt a tug on my shirtsleeve, and gazed down to find a familiar little boy astride an old, yellow caterpillar scooter.
He smiled at me, and a tear snuck into my eye. His smile settled into a thoughtful gaze, and he nodded saying, 'I remember you. I knew you wouldn't forget. It's your turn to play now.'
He pointed outside, and though the screendoor I saw the old maple. And I remembered. I remembered mor than I thought possible. A great sense of pressence washed over me, and I belonged. I had purpose. Not just past of present, but a vision of me in yet to be. I felt...universal, and I hadn't the slightest idea, of nor care for, why. I didn't want to know. I cried like...
I turned to thank him, the boy, but he was gone. The wind had settled, and the leaves lay still.
'It's ok, kid,' I thought, 'I'll take it from here.'"