The House I Grew Up In (part 1)

May 1967:

   We drove out from Columbus to look at our new house. It wasn’t finished so we had to walk across a plank to get in the front door. It was a dead end street with nothing but field to the west. The builder’s office was in the basement, we met him there. I stood in the unfinished kitchen and watched everyone outside. Being a kid I went to explore the empty house. I didn’t get far.

   As I got close to the stairs to go up to the bedrooms a shadow moved into the front room. Thinking it was someone with the builder I didn’t see when we first came in I wondered back to the kitchen. I’m not talkative and very introverted so I chose not to go any further if someone was upstairs. There were the sound of foot steps on the plywood floor upstairs. My parents were heading back towards the door and I blended in with the group. The builder walked us through the kitchen then up the stairs. We gathered in the hall and looked into the rooms. The bathroom and master bedroom were to the right, a smaller bedroom to the left. Straight ahead was the room where the other worker went. Everyone looked in and went about the discussion of the house. No one said anything to the guy in the bedroom.

   Holding onto my mom’s hand as they were talking, I leaned in and looked around the bedroom. There wasn’t anyone in the room. I know what I saw and heard just a moment earlier. Letting go of mom’s hand I walked into the room and looked out the front window. Nothing outside except our car in the muddy gravel driveway. This was just the beginning of this house’s stories.

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