There is a lot that could be said about the past. Some good, some bad. Driving down the once familiar streets of Worcester, I wanted to remember the happy times; birthdays, Christmas, and summer. And yet, all I could recall was pain, fear, and shame. Perhaps it was because some of the most frightening moments occurred while I called Fales Street home, perhaps it was because I drove through that once bright and cheery neighborhood as a now motherless child. It stung, and it throbbed. I don't even know if I could identify "it"...I guess it could be categorized as the the overall atmosphere of visiting a prior life as a different person. It was uncomfortable. I hated the way my old home was stripped of the old oak tree, the way Burncoat Pizza had a flashy new sign, how the Everetts had not moved even a single stepping stone. All of it was provocative. Arrogantly exposing itself, hardly aware of the displeasure it brought me. Those were my favorite days. Those were my most cherished years, and it will never be the same. I was bothered that I couldn't remember the wallpaper pattern in the old dining room like I once did. (I did eventually; small cherry blossoms floating in a sea of white shimmer). But why couldn't I remember it? Because I have not thought about it for quite some time. The walls that held my childhood, the doors that hid my tears, the windows that freed my pain had all been forgotten. To know something so intimately and then hardly recognize it is both depressing and captivating. Sick to my stomach with memories of sadness, I was more than grateful to leave that old neighborhood. However, I was even more sad as we drove back to Jersey because now I long for those days to return more than ever before. I want the days of lemonade stands, babysitters, and Mommy's hugs. But more than that, I don't want to forget my memories.
Somedays the most that you hoped you do
Is step in your leather shoes
And make your way around the block
Days that tired mother of ours
And living has made her sad
How she wishes she could stop the clock
-A Perspective
