Monday, March 10th, 2008
hauntings & ghosts.
I am convinced that my childhood home is haunted. Upon turning into the driveway, the grass is the first indicator of it’s eeriness. The weather is very warm this time of year, but for some reason, the grass in the front yard is the color of hay. It is lifeless. This once luscious, healthy turf of green has now been doomed to a slow & sad death. I stare at it, trying to remember my front yard’s beauty. But all I can see is straw. The gigantic tree near the driveway would be the second indicator. Not one leaf on it; just thin sticks protruding out of it’s 20 year old trunk. There is much more to the yard than these two things, but for right now, this is all I can see. Neglect, remorse, disappointment, hurt. If those plants could talk, I know that they would speak nonstop of their discontentment & sorrow.
I rap on the door, anticipating the answer, hoping that The Ghost that resides in this desolate place will be friendly today. The door opens swiftly, creaking a little, & there stands The Ghost. He looks the same as he always does, but somehow you know that it’s just a facade & he really has changed & is still evolving in his ghostliness. He invites me in & I am standing in the middle of the entry-way, astounded at how the house has transformed. Everything has changed, yet… nothing has changed. The same tiled floors, the same painted walls. The same chips in the walls, the same leaky ceiling. But… it’s a different same. & there are ghosts everywhere. They all seem to be speaking at once, too, calling my attention. Over here! they scream. Remember me? says one. I shudder. I am not scared of these ghosts trying to catch my attention. Truthfully, I’d rather bask in their company than the main Ghost that lives here. But I ignore them, hoping that they’ll go away & hoping that I can get through this visit without going away with them.
The Ghost speaks to me in the same voice but his words are different; his demeanor, his attitude. Everything is different about the Ghost. He has a cold, a persistent cough that makes me wince. We talk nonchalantly about light & insignificant things, but we dare not mention the other ghosts, though they are like an elephant in the room. I try to compliment him on what he has done with the place, but I can’t because I don’t like it. I don’t tell him this. Everything in the house seems dead. My old room is in ruins, ghosts inhabiting it without even asking permission. They float around in wispy images in front of my eyes. Tears stream down my face, wishing I could go back with them… but I can’t. I sit alone & watch the ghost, remembering right along with them as they tell the same stories of my life over & over again. When it becomes too difficult to watch, I walk out, leaving the door ajar, careful not to let them out.
The only thing alive in my childhood home is my very old dog, Dakota, but even he is hanging on for dear life. He walks as though he is 1,000 years old. He sees the ghosts, too & follows them with his eyes, wishing he could play with them again. I pat his head as though to say “I know… I know” & he looks at me with the most sorrowful eyes. I look away; it was all I could do to keep from picking him up in my arms & running for my car so we could both save ourselves. But no. That cannot happen. He is forever owned by The Ghost… & in spite of the millions of other significant ghosts that reside with him, Dakota is the only one that he really acknowledges. He is damned here & will be until he dies. Unless of course he’d like to stay with the other ghosts…
In my childhood home, minutes drag like hours, hours drag like days. I feel like I am having an out of body experience & I have to constantly remind myself of my surroundings to snap myself back to reality. Or is this reality? Everything is so foreign… but so familiar. I start to feel myself collapsing at the pressure & sadness of this house & I feel like I have to leave so that I may catch my breath. I am quite relieved of when it has grown dark & I need to go back home. The Ghost has been cordial… but his friendliness was forced & I’ve outstayed my welcome. He does everything he can to keep me there a bit longer, to dine with him & the other ghosts that live with him. He makes excuses to try to get me to stay just a little longer, in spite of his obvious standoffishness. Gracefully, I decline, telling him that I will see him soon — maybe the next weekend — but that is a promise that I don’t intend to keep. I hate to lie but it is easier this way; the most upsetting & scary thing about this Ghost is his inconsistent emotions & I don’t want to stir them up. He needs to sleep good tonight.
I give The Ghost a big hug, feeling like I am going to fall right through him; he is so transparent. His eyes are tired as they gaze into mine, but I avoid his gaze, not wanting to get involved in his pity. We say good-bye & I tell him to take care of himself & this house. In my car, driving toward the city where I reside, I sigh a big breath as if it were the first time I’ve done so in the last several hours. I wipe away sad tears, recalling the Ghost & Dakota & all of the other little ghosts that live with him. I wonder what happened & how did it all become this way. & yet happy that I can go back to what I call normal in my own little world, far away from this terrifying & depressing place. I say prayers for the Ghost, asking God to keep him & help him. & then, I thank Him for allowing me to get through yet another visit to my childhood home, where my father lives.
on Tuesday, October 21st, 2008 at 11:29 am:
[...] on my writing. I want to do what I did before, when this blog was a nobody; I want to write like this again. & like this, & like [...]
on Tuesday, October 21st, 2008 at 7:13 pm:
I think you have a great writing style. Even with the pictures I still noticed how great of a writer you were.
:)