Leggett St.

I had reached the end of Leggett Street. Pulling in front of the rusty mailbox, I didn't even know why I was there. It's been more than ten years since I've set foot on the property, more than ten years since my life fell apart. For a fleeting moment I considered abandoning the whole plan. What am I doing? Why am I purposely dragging up unhappy memories of a broken home? It's too late, I'm drawn to the place. "Five or ten minutes, that's all", I muttered to myself.1

It was not the place I remembered. The light tan siding has turned a murky brown, and the thirty eight on the porch post is barely legible. The old pecan tree is bare, and my Easter flowers nearby are long gone. A rusted red truck sits in the driveway, devoured by weeds and other flora. As I cross the overgrown yard memories come flooding back to me. I block them out; I don’t have time to dawdle. Once on the porch I stopped abruptly, it seemed as if someone had already beaten me there. There was glass all over the porch, my porch, and both front windows were broken. The overgrown shrubbery had blocked this from my roadside view. I let out a long line of expletives, how dare they? All those years I dreamt of getting out of it, all those years I told myself I would never live in a place like that, it was still my house. How dare they violate it? I carefully climb through the window, avoiding the few shards still on the frame, and soon as I was inside I was sorry I'd come. The first room I encounter is the living room, but I exit it as quickly as I'd entered. I'm not ready for that yet.2

It took about ten steps to get to my old room; I had always said the house was too damn small. I pass the door with the giant hole, remembering how it got there. Flying candle, and that was during one of the better times. There's not much left in my room, just the splintered frame of a bunk bed. I think back to all those times I lay on that bottom bunk, sobbing, wishing I was dead. I hear my broken voice, "It's going to be okay Brandi, we'll get out of here one day...", trying to calm my sister, trying to calm myself. I had barely believed my own words. I ran my fingers across the frame, trying to remember the good times, but nothing came. There was nothing there for me except a lingering feeling of hopelessness and defeat. It had always seemed as if I could do nothing, my fate was always in the hands of others.3

Next was the dining room. One chair remained, and I felt like it was meant for me. I recalled the shouting matches I witnessed when I seemed invisible, the dinners I ate alone, and all the times I felt like I had nobody but myself. I tried to shake myself of these thoughts, but they would not fade. Happy memories were being suffocated by the miserable ones, and I could not revive them. I idly crossed into the kitchen, and smiled at the sunflower clad walls. The kitchen had always been a happy and bright place, and I learned at a young age that eating equaled happiness. I wish I had known the troubles it would bring me in the future then.4

Checking my watch, I realized if I didn't get out of there my whole schedule was going to be thrown off. Returning to the living room, I survey the place and see that whoever paid a visit before me left nothing but a battered loveseat and broken lamp. That poor loveseat had been everywhere in the room, always changing, just as my life had. So much had happened in this room. This was where I was first told that I had lost my baby brother. This was where my parents got separated the first, second, and third times. This was where the candle was thrown from. This was where I was told I was a horrible kid. This is where I begged my friends to please stop fighting. This was where I was told I couldn't return to my own home. This was where my life changed forever.5

But there was more. I had a surge of new memories. This was where we put the Christmas tree. This is where I received my first puppy. This was where we put my trophies. This was where the family pictures hung. This was where we played monopoly as a family. This is where I grew up. This was where I became who I am today.6

Once on the highway I called my sister and told her I was on my way home, but I left my heart at thirty eight Leggett Street.