Fire has brought me to write this out. My life, the bad memories which have once again been released.
December 24, 1996: As I
opened my eyes and yawned, I waited for the normal scents of the season to fill
my nose. At my house during the holiday’s you can always smell the scent of the
fresh pine tree, the sweet smell of cinnamon, and wonderful other scents like
fresh baked bread, pumpkin pies, chocolate chip cookies and anything else we
decide to whip up. I have always loved the holidays, everyone comes together
and helps make all kinds of things, the house is warm from the continuously
running oven, it is just a happy time of year. When you wake up even the coldest
Northern New York winter, which is driving
outdoors seems far away. The sun reflects off the snow, illuminating the house
and makes everyone happy. This Christmas Eve morning seemed different though,
only the dying scent of the pine tree wafted through the air. I looked around
the living room propping myself up on my elbow. The house seemed empty and
dark. The sun did not bounce around the walls dancing merrily. It barely even
shined. I called for my mom, she came down the hall but on her face was not a
happy holiday smile but a deep frown.
I remember that I
never cried, not as my mom was telling me, not later that day, nor the next
day, not even at my Grandpa’s funeral did I cry. I was close to my father’s
father but for some unknown reason I never shed a tear for his passing, instead
I stood dumbfounded watching everyone else cry the tears that should be
staining my own face. I would always think about him but I would never weep at
his memory. Before I was born my father’s mother had passed away, I was left
with one set of grandparents now, but they didn’t live right down the road, I
couldn’t walk there, I got to see them a lot but it wasn’t the same. Sometime
after my grandfather’s death, we auctioned off his house, which was bought by
my neighbor’s son who now lives in Connecticut.
These memories live
in a place that I do not visit very often. In the back of my mind there is a
closet, this closet has an immense black lock. When you open the door there is
a wall, this wall has a trick door, if you push it in the right place, the door
pops open, this leads to a murky room. There are no windows, and the only light
is a minute dim oil lamp. The room’s walls are actually cupboards; with the set
of hidden keys, you may open these cupboards. In each cupboard is an orb. The
orb is black with pulsing gray swimming in the murky depths, but if you place
your hand on the orb, it changes colors and pictures form. These are all the
memories I cannot get rid of no matter how much I want them gone. They stain my
best memories leaving me short clips; it is as though you are watching a
preview for a movie, only this is the entire movie. I hate these memories but
they make me who I am and getting rid of them would ruin what I have become.
For the most part, I like who I have grown to be, the parts I do not like are
slowly being mended before they rot any of my good traits. I will never be
perfect but as long as I can make one-person smile in a day I shall fulfill my dreams.
January 1, 1998: Everyone is
happy. My sister, father, mother and I make our good-bye rounds, getting hugged
and kissed from aunts, uncles, nephews, nieces, grandparents (well not my
fathers), friends and everyone else. My aunt always has a party at her house on
the holidays and we always go. Like my grandpa’s house, it is just up the road,
though in the opposite direction. I wave to everyone as we walk out into the
frigid night air. The house looks warm with its orange glowing lights as though
the people and lights make the house a warm fire, making anyone who enters
instantly happy. Less than a minute later, we pull into our own driveway. I
follow everyone into the house, before long I am asleep on the couch. My mind
goes dark as sleep holds me close.
I
start blinking rapidly; it could not be morning already. It had been about one
in the morning when I went to bed though, so maybe it was supposed to feel this
way. I started coughing. It was hard to breath, I looked around but all I could
see was heavy white smoke. My body left the couch and my feet hit the floor. My
mom pushed on my back and we raced for the door. When the clean cold air hit
the back of my throat, I gasped like a poor fish that had been tossed upon the
shore. My mom took me to our van and told me to stay there. I looked around to
find my two cats Tiger and Patches; I held them on my lap. I looked for my
other cat Boomer and my grandfather’s old dog Mugsy, but did not find them. Soon,
my sister who was still coughing on thick smoke joined me. We shared our room
but I slept on the couch, sleeping there comforted me for some reason, but in
our room was a 12-inch duct that ran directly from the basement into our room
this had created an airway for smoke to fill the room. The night seemed to
speed up as our van was filled with stuff. Soon loud noises filled the air,
quickly followed by bright lights. I looked to see huge red trucks pull into
our driveway. People were yelling but I could not understand them. My mom and
dad came out with one last load of stuff, tossed it in the van and we pulled
out of the driveway to the other side of the road. My dad got out and talked to
the men, which now crowded around the flaming house. We listened as strange
loud noises echoed across the land. The snapping sound was what filled the most
space, it sounded as though someone was dancing on little twigs.
Later
we learned a spark from the ash pile had jumped to the woodpile in our
basement. After my sister and I had gone to sleep my dad sat at the table in
the dining room reading yesterdays paper. He started smelling burning rubber,
worried he went around the house looking in every room but found nothing. He
sat back down and started reading the paper. All of a sudden, he heard meowing
coming from the basement. Sighing he got up, the cats often followed us down to
the basement, hid and accidentally got shut down there. He opened the door, but
as a furry cat named Tiger ran past his feet, a ball of fire raced up the
steps. Slamming the door he went to wake us up, starting with my mom.
These
are two main events that are burned into my memory. Other memories I wish some
days I could forget include; my father’s heart attack the day before Halloween,
my mother’s gull stone surgery that escalated into ammonia, my favorite
relative my great uncle’s death, the day my cousin’s house burnt down, the day
my uncle Dave committed suicide, the day my uncle Bob turned his back on a tree
which fell and he is now paralyzed from the waist down, the day my cousin
Ronnie fell through a skylight and landed on his face, the day my stepsister
tried to kill herself after she was raped, and on my mom’s 50th
birthday when I was hit by a big red semi. This is just the tip of it. I have
also almost drowned three or four times now. The day my duck died was the
worst.
This duck was my
best friend. My cats were terrified of him because he always tried washing
them, which resulted in tons of pulled fur. Every night I had to call him in
because he only came to me. We played in the brook a lot and I loved watching
him try to fly, his name was Plucky. One day I came home from school and I
could not find him. Later that night my father found him at the top of the hill
were I now live, a mink had killed him, leaving his body perfect except for two
tiny teeth marks. For a week I cried non-stop, except when my puffy eyes would
slowly close leaving me in a fitful sleep.
In sixth grade I
started talking more at school all accredited to the day I asked my science
teacher why ”anyone would want to eat a deer $h!t apple anyway”. Since then I
have become much friendlier at school and since then my grades have went up. At
school, everyone thought my life was perfect, they always said they wished they
had my life. I cannot blame them I got good grades, I was nice, and I acted as
though my life were happy. This was not the case. At home when no one was
looking, I would think about suicide. Often I would cry myself to sleep. To my
mind death seemed great, finally no more lose no more pain, no feelings, just nothingness.
This went on for years. I used school to distract my mind but the darkness of
night brought dark thoughts. In about tenth grade I started writing a lot and
all the things that bogged my mind slowly started to leave. As the words went
onto paper, the thoughts left my mind. I was free to think. Anyone who read
this would have thought I was crazy; a lot of it was talk about suicide and
pain. Slowly my head started filling with new thoughts like swimming, soccer,
work, mulching, gardening and puzzles. I thought about baking for my class and
working towards my bronze. When my day was going bad I would not cry but
scratch away angrily at a piece of paper, filling the paper with darkness
instead of my head. Writing became my vent. Since then life has gotten better.
My mind locked away the most painful memories to help me along the path of
life, all the other memories buzz around in a portion of my brain, which brings
creativity to all things I do.
Until last night,
I thought that the world had left me to live a normal life. I sat at my desk in
my room planning a golfing trip for Venture Crew. I heard my sister’s voice and
I wondered what brought her up to the house so late. I dismissed it and decided
to ask my mom later. I started hearing sirens. Later happened in about a minute
when my mom came into my room. I looked at her and she told me the news. My
grandpa’s old barn was on fire; it was spreading and heading towards our woods.
I threw on my jacket as I slipped my feet into sandals. Soon I was outside
looking at the sky, toward the river the black night sky was smeared smoky
orange. I started walking to the end of my road. My sister met me half way and
we drove to the end of the road, we pulled off the side of the road and walked
towards the swirling red and white lights. She told me her boyfriend Andy was
down at the brook trying to prevent the fire from jumping to our side and
touching off our woods. When we got there, my best friend Michele, her
boyfriend Josh and her brother Ramon stood in a group. Ramon was complaining
that his mustang was in the barn and he would never get to drive it. We watched
firefighters struggling to put out the fire. The barn had already collapsed but
the fire was far from out. We found Michele’s dad, Mike, who soon had to leave to
talk to the sheriffs and tell them his son’s information, his son being the
current owner of the property. The night was cold. When Mike came back, he told
us what he knew. Mike had just checked on the farm about 4 hours before the
fire started, on his way home from the farmer’s market. He put pears in the
basement of the house and picked some raspberries by the barn. Everything was
fine so he left. In the barn was all his winter hay, Ramon’s car and a Farmall
A that my dad had sold to Mike. As we watched the flames start fading, my mind
started racing.
Some quick math
told me, it had been approximately a decade since my grandfather’s death, and
the day my own house burnt. I laughed and my sister looked at me. I told them
how it was Yom Kipper, another holiday, the curse continues. Also how tomorrow
was the 23rd and for those who have watched The Number 23, my
birthday is June 23 and I live on 23
Grandy Road. I also told them about the decade
thing. We all laughed at these facts.
Mike told us his
thoughts. He believes some of the kids from the bridge threw gas in it and lit
it on fire. It is the only thing that makes sense. The barn has no electricity, no one lives at the house,
and there are no doors on the barn. It would be easy for them to do. As to why, who
knows; probably to have some fun, probably they were drunk and wanted to set
something on fire. For this, we might never know.
I watched as more
of my past was torn away from me, the memories flooded back. Memories of my
grandfather filled my head. I remembered the time Kim and I played in the hay
and the time we helped our parents raise pigs in there. In addition, memories
of prom night came back, when we played hide and seek; Beth and I hide in the
barn, Michele never found us because she was afraid to go in the barn. Before
tears could form in my eyes, I slammed the door to my memories. Later they all
poured out in a story I created.
We all started
talking again, Josh brought up prom night when he had to sleep alone in the
house. He told us how he heard things moving in the basement and how the house
was freezing. He told us he went outside to sleep in his truck, but when he
opened the house door, he was hit by hot air. Outside the air was warm while
inside the air was so cold he could see his breath. We all looked at each other
as Josh declared he thought the house was haunted. We all nodded in agreement
then voiced our opinion that we too thought the house was haunted. We laughed
nervously.
So there you go, I wanted to rant about my life because the doors in my mind
refuse to stay closed. I hope who ever started the fire has the worst
life imaginable. The end is kind of random but ranting can be
random.
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for those losses...They are traumatic at any stage of life.