From A Good Home

It starts out in a cul-de-sac.

They moved to the suburbs when I was still less than a year old. My footprints are in the backyard. When they were filling the concrete they dipped my feet in so I would have a taste of a land that was mine.

The house had high ceilings and carpet flooring. Though the carpet was eventually replaced with tile. The wooden cabinets remain the same. I played restaurant with my grandmother. I had princess themed birthday parties. I rode scooters with my neighbors. I soon had a baby brother.

I remember all these things. I also remember the fighting.

I don't recall the words spoken, however they weren't nice words. Mother always said if you don't have anything nice to say then you don't say it at all. Maybe mother got tired of holding it in.

Eventually I moved out of the cul-de-sac. There was another house with another man. This house had a huge pool and even a smaller house in the backyard. It seemed too good to be true to live in a house that grand. Once it was foreclosed I started trusting my intuition more. Truth exposed that there really was no solid foundation. Then there was the apartment where I shared a room with my brother. Then a townhome with my dad. For a while they were together. Then dad rented out a room from a buddhist firefighter. Then there was another apartment and he appeared again. Finally the same house with my footprints along with a brand new house in a movie city neighborhood. They would film across the street there. I got a snippet of a dream that could be mine. One that could provide me with a place of my own.

And that was my life for a long time. The fighting stopped. Two new adults entered my life. I grew up. I didn't have princess parties anymore. I got my first car. I cried. I went to prom. I didn't tell him that I did that. I graduated high school. Then the cul-de-sac house got inhabited my someone else. What replaced was a duplex in the city, near the west side. One half I could occupy the other was their work.

And that's how it is right now. It started in a cul-de-sac but eventually turned into something else.

There are some people who lived in the same house all their lives. A good home. At least that what it appears to be on the outside. But I believe them. Some people are lucky to find love that survives. Though I can't say I know the feelings deep inside. I don't know if I'm envious or if I'm grateful. It seems like it always happens to me, the extremes in terms of real estate property. The mortgage is on the table. Let's refinance the house. For once can it all appear stable? Movers, divorce papers. I was eight when the economy crashed and I was nine when it was finalized. I am 21 almost 22 now still experiencing the havoc. Still no lease or title under my name but footprints. Little baby footprints. Footprints don't get you anywhere. It is the walk you do yourself not the mark you leave behind. That mark does however help the next traveler find their way out.

One day I will have my own home. My own space. My own cat. My own plants. My own belongings. No fighting under my roof. I will paint the walls with peace and I will decorate the rooms with dreams. And all that will exist will be me and love from a good home.

- j.a. buckly