Yellow House

There are many moments in life worthy of reflection. Sometimes they're small and very much rooted in the present, like standing on the shore and

gazing out over drifting waves, to where the sky meets the water. Sometimes they're much larger and only visible with time, like the understanding

of something you thought you knew, becoming a new realization and trickling into your being. You never really know when those moments will come

because they just sort of happen, life is like that.

I once possessed an illusion of control when i was younger. As i became older i think it manifested into funny little habits like counting

the number of times i scrubbed my face in the shower, or repeating the names of my immediate family members in my head as many times as i

deemed it necessary for whatever reason. Inherently i think i understood even then, that there was no such thing as really having the ability to

control anything outside of oneself, and so control myself i did. It was my way of holding on to an illusion that would only continue to fade,

as time went on.

I'm the second eldest of 5 children, and the role of mediator seems to be the task to which i assigned myself to. I suppose that it might've been

another way of seeking to control what i ultimately never could, like all of those moments where i couldn't keep the peace between my mother and my

father, no matter how hard i tried. The arguments and fights that used to fill my ears with violence, and my heart with dread. The fear that ensued

each time as i began to understand that the people i loved most in life, were like furious tornados that burned brightly with hatred and resentment

for each other. There was no controlling that, or the terrible need to try and work things out for them. And so try i did, no matter how violent

things became. I thought that if i tried hard enough and behaved well myself, perhaps one day id teach them how to behave themselves, perhaps in

time they'd soften up just a little bit. That was another illusion that was shattered one day when i was just about 9, and i dared to place myself

in between my parents as they stood there poised to hurt each other. To be so roughly pushed away by the woman whom i called mother, the one who

gave me life, wasn't an easy thing for me to grasp. All because i stood between her and the man who she felt the need to fight so badly, my father.

Don't get me wrong, my mother was every bit as affectionate and loving as she was filled with rage. But that moment hurt me in so many ways, physically

being the least of them. It served to be an important lesson, one that i would learn time and time again as the years went on.

My inability to control anything it seemed, used to consume me. I can see it now when i flip through the pages of my old writing journals, entries

filled with ever familiar feelings of angst and sadness. Still for all of the mayhem that enveloped me, i believe that i did the best that i could

with what was given to me. I walked a careful line between frustration at the circumstances, and an all consuming love for my family that enabled me to

continuously hope for the best, no matter how dire the situation was. After awhile most things become familiar enough to weather anyways, even unpleasant

ones. But especially when paired with something beautiful. Its quite hard to describe the polarity that can exist within the familial dynamic,

and my family is no different. For all of the darkness that consumed us, there was an equal amount of love and joy present. A light that emanated

from both of my parents, and each one of my brothers and sisters. We certainly laughed more than we cried, and did more for each other rather than

against each other. Regardless of all the other facts we weathered everything together, the good and the bad.

One Sunday we were on our way to church, it was just my older brother Scotty, my younger sister Daisy and i riding in the backseat. Mother was

driving on the freeway and I suppose that it was a combination of the rain, and the speeding that found us spinning. I recall waking up to

the feeling of something that was suffocating me, i could smell the fumes from the wreckage that seemed to hang heavy, and suspended in the

air. I looked to my left and past Daisy, who was looking at me with such fear and shock in her eyes, only to see scotty sitting very still with his

head hanging low. There was a pool of blood on the seat where he sat, and on the floor at his feet. As i registered that i felt my heart seize, and

jump in my chest. Our doors wouldn't open so like some heroine out of a graphic novel, my mother pulled me out through the back window and an older

kind man who had seen the crash and had come running, did the same for Daisy. We were taken to the hospital with minor scrapes, save for my brother

who had two head injuries that required stitching and staples. But somehow we all lived, and as i stood in one of the rooms shaking shards of shattered

glass from my hair, i heard a nurse say in a very low voice that we were so incredibly lucky to have gotten out of that accident alive. I felt

certain of that as i ran down the halls with my sister in our hospital gowns, it felt like i was flying. Like somehow id grown wings, i was that elated

to still be alive. There must've been an angel looking out for us that day, but i will never forget that moment, where i thought id lost my brother forever.

It was late spring, when we moved into our first real home. I was 13 and filled with utter joy and disbelief, the prospect of having a place to call

home was just a fantasy that id harbored for a very long time. You get used to living in small apartments, places where you cant do things like be outside

past a certain time because of curfew, or paint the walls a different color because they never really belong to you. Well for the first time we did have

something, and it filled my head with daydreams. We had a lovely porch with white wooden beams that i fell in love with the first time i laid

eyes on it, id go outside often and just stand there looking out over the block. It wasn't a very big house, our neighborhood could hardly be considered middle

class and that was evident by the sight of the small houses that lined our street. Simple one story homes with a room or two but nothing more,

and yet it was paradise to me. I loved the sight of the tiny front lawns that adorned each house, and their individual driveways. Every evening

all the kids on the block would come out to catch a taste of freedom for a few hours, the sound of the ice-cream truck making his rounds around

the neighborhood filling our ears with music. Us kids got to know the neighbors quite well and it wasn't long before we formed friendships

with all of the other kids, they seemed intrigued by the new family on the block and found many little excuses to come around. Summertime was

the best of course because everyone got to stay out a little later than usual, which was exciting for us as we usually seemed to be the last

ones out on the block on every other night. Our parents were quite odd in that way, despite all of the restrictions placed upon us, there was a

lot of liberty given as well. My parents were quite young when they had us, babies really. In many ways it felt as though i was raising them on some

days.

As the years passed and we all grew as children do, there were disagreements and crushes that were had, disappointments

and dreams that were made. There was so much that transpired throughout the years. I had my first kiss in the small bedroom that i used to share with

my sisters, courtesy of one of the boys who lived across the street from us. We even had a brood of Rottie pups, bestowed upon us by the two strays

that we'd taken in not long after moving in. First we found Syrus, the handsomest dog there ever was. Then along came Girl, who was just so lovely

and graceful. Little did we know then that they'd become our whole world, and that they'd go on to shape the very people wed end up becoming. It was a litter of

7 puppies that were born, 6 girls and lastly a boy. We found homes for only two of them, Reeses and Walnut, then somehow kept the rest. It was

initially our intention to rehome them, but as time went on and they grew older, it only became harder to let them go. So we spent the next 7 years

mired in a very special kind of chaos, the type that only comes from having a house full of children and Rottweiler puppies. Together we grew older, and they

raised us just as we raised them. Most people called us crazy for having so many, but i didn't care. We were filled with such love in our hearts for them,

and they brought us such immeasurable laughter and loyalty. Madison, Betty, Gypsy, Rosie, Tzar, and their parents my Syrus and Girl; loving them became

my greatest joy. Then that all changed, the day that we lost them.

It was the winter after my 24th birthday when animal control came knocking on our door

and hauled them all away to the animal shelter, save for Syrus whom they had allowed my sister to walk out with. Fortunately Gypsy and Tzar had been

staying with my mother at her boyfriends house, she had moved out for the most part and we only saw her on the days that shed stop by. That was an

odd kind of pain itself, that feeling of abandonment. In retrospect i can see why she stayed away, things were so awful between her and my father,

most times it just seemed like an obvious choice. I understood that even then but the truth still hurt, having the company of our pups did much to

comfort me. To have them taken away made me feel like a child who'd had her teddy bear stolen, the one that was there all those times when no one else was.

The day that we went to the shelter to see them, was one of the hardest days of my life. I had forfeited my schooling, friendships, and really everything

in between to stay home and care for them full time. They'd become my whole life and living proof that id done anything with my

time at all, to see them locked up in separate cages was heartbreaking to witness.

In the end things happened as best as they could've, under the circumstances. In many ways i have to acknowledge that it was a saving grace, for upon losing home we had nowhere to take them to. Somehow they were all adopted by

wonderful people, who saw just how special they truly were. Perhaps it was because they had the privilege of staying together, or perhaps it was because

we loved them even more than we loved ourselves, but they were special canine familiars and the best friends that i could've ever grown up with.

Four years have come and gone since that season of my life and so much continues to change. That boy who gave me my first kiss? Well i had a son with

his brother which would've been scandalous had that kiss transpired into anything more, but I'm happy to say that it didn't. I love my partner in that special

way you could only love someone who you've known for so long. I now live across the street from the very house that i used to call home. They painted

and renovated it, but i know the bones of that house like the skin on the back of my hand. Forever in my mind, i think ill always see it how it was then.

Moving in to that little yellow house on 53rd street was the single incident that changed my life. With the learning curves that took me down so many winding

roads, the moments of unparalleled joy closely followed by the sobering realities of growing up. No matter where i find myself Ill

always miss barefoot on a faded wooden floor, and the smell of jasmine that lingered on a white porch.