We rarely stayed in one house very long. The house I was born in was lost to back taxes and from that point on we were constantly on the move. Another neighborhood, another house, another set of issues to deal with. I was ten years old when my family was reunited. My grandmother had bought us a house, the first house I would call home. Six years in one place, despite the problems at home, I was now able to place roots. Making friends and finally having a degree of stability, as for the first time I was in same school for more then one year.
This place that I called home, held both good and scary memories. It recently burnt to the ground and with that came a barrage of unwelcome thoughts. In one perspective, it was closure, the house of hell burnt to the ground, and another part of me felt a loss of connection. As if that
part of life now had the door slammed shut. I looked on as the flames filled the sky. I felt numb and a chill shook from within. It was as if this final farewell, lit a chapter of the book of life into uncontrollable flames.
The four of us girls started out in one room of the attic. A smile came over me as I visioned us girls andthe sweet memories of my sisters singing and lulling to sleep beyond the fears of the day. With little resources, we were instilled with a love for lyrics and music. I could almost hear the second oldest singing, they called the wind.........and then quickly my head bounced around as thoughts of the screams in the night, the breaking of glass, the sound of police car sirens, replaced the beauty of her voice.