They stared once more up to the friendly perch leaning oddly out above a normal enough sunny strip of homes. The four of them stood there, trying to soak up the memories like they were the warm afternoon heat. Finally they turned to get into the car, their last load of belongings strapped to the top.
There was a calm as the relief of leaving this place set in; all with the hope that their demons were to stay here as well. Unable to explain even to each other the sore ripping at the heart as they turned their back on their palace. Their palace that held with it such dark thoughts. It had been a haven to let out such things. No one was certain they were ready to give up that freedom, but there was no more time. This was the last of a chapter none of them wanted to end, but knew they wouldn’t want to repeat it.
The surroundings here are of nothing remarkable. The cracking walls and fraying armchairs would duplicate that belonging to most college bound kids—short on cash and easily content. Spacious, but cramped with clutter; this was a mother’s nightmare while a stoner’s dream.
Bare essentials are lost here amongst the collection of artwork scraps placed proudly on each exposed wall and surface, evidence of nights passed found in unhealthy addictions; obviously and unashamedly strewn about.
The arched doorways or brightly colored walls may catch your attention. The quaint balcony overlooking the neighborhood might give you reason to remember this apartment as different than most.
But that’s not why you will remember.
This was a home for these residents—these kids—not an apartment. This was a habitat for firsts. For learning. For experience. For love. For hate. For trying each wave of thought on those present. There was no censoring here. No false pretenses. No impressing. No deceiving.
It just was.
And so were they.
Never would a house, even one day a home, feel quite like the time spent here. The experience would not be repeated with its perfect timing of personalities lost in the midst of self-discovery. Some learning. Some teaching. Some observing.
We were free to explore without explanation or excuse, or any reason at all. We existed, testing coping mechanisms as we went—neither accepting nor rejecting the others' choices. A group of heads to fill with your endless questions and ideas that would never tire. A group of arms to hold you when everything else failed. Accepting eyes set into loving faces that never faltered, no matter your change of character.
I got the idea, as a reader, that you were going to go for something like this at the end, and then you do.....as Kerouac would say, "Go!"
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