Packed green minivan and an empty brick house with a green door. Empty. Aside from teddy bear picnics and flower fairies which occupy rooms. Rooms filled with playtime and timeout memories alike. Heartbreaking farewells. “Hug me tight Muv, I don’t know when I’ll get to see you again. I don’t know about this California and I’m a little afraid.”
Years later, I return to the brick house with the
green door. Only this wasn’t the same house. The familiar screeching sound of a
play set was gone. Along with the red-fruited plants I recall my mother pruning
and sending my sister and me off to pick.
But
the most impacting change… The once colorful and detailed friends of my
childhood were painted over. White. Blank. My sister’s fairies left as well. I
suppose they got lonely and decided to go find a new child to care for. I miss
them. But I know now that it would’ve been impossible for me to stay with them
forever. My inevitable departure merely sped up the process. The process of
their loneliness and my growing up.
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