Amazing Grace

It had been twenty-four years since she'd last seen it, but the place looked exactly the same.

Well...almost.

Growing up in an old town like this one, everything moves at such a slow, creeping pace, that you almost expect time to wait for you to come back home before the clock starts ticking again.

Twenty-four years.

Just enough time for the old grocery store clerk who used to offer me candy as I waited on my mother to finish shopping to forget my name.

Just enough time for me to get married and have two kids of my own.

Just enough time for the mailman who always greeted me with a warm smile and a handwritten letter from my uncle (who was away in the army) to pass away from pancreatic cancer.

Just enough time for me to hate myself for not visiting sooner.

I drive along the dusty dirt roads that once used to seem so magical when I was a child. These winding roads used to whisk me away on grand adventures with the other kids from my neighborhood; they used to be filled with lava and sharks and jungle animals. Now, as my old Honda Civic bumps along the unpaved path, these roads have never felt more…average. I pass by a patch of land that used to be my great grandmother’s house, and I think of all the times I spent there underneath her the willow tree out back, reading stories and imagining what it would be like to run away from everything I’d ever known and start over. No one told nine-year-old me that she was going to miss it all someday. One second you’re a child, head filled to the brim with a wild imagination, and all you want is to hurry up and get older so you can live your life the way you want. The next second, you’re forty-four (going on forty-five), and all you want is to sit under that willow tree one last time, pretending that the stars only shined for you alone and the entire universe fell at your fingertips.

God, how lovely it was to be young and naïve and totally unaware of the passage of time.

I pull the car over on the side of the road and begin to cry for all the things I would never have again in this life. I mean sure, my life was amazing now; I have awesome kids, a wonderful husband, and a well-paying job, but something has been missing ever since I packed my torn suitcase with the sticky wheel and left this place for good. I wish someone would have told me that day that bringing the adult inside of you to life meant killing off your childhood self for good. I traded in my wildest, grandest dreams for an 8’ x 12’ cubicle, a stable income, and cold cups of coffee on windowsills overlooking a city I always hated. I traded in my superhero cape for some 3-inch nude heels and a blazer. I traded in my happiness for the things society told me would make me happy, and now here I am, crying in my car on the side of a dirt road, wishing I could go back and save the world from evil villains and menacing monsters one last time.

Putting my car in drive again, I look around and start to wonder just when the magic left this town, and I figure it disappeared the very day I decided it was time to leave and move on to better things. Silly girl, always thinking the grass was greener on the other side of wherever she happened to be.

I pull up to the driveway of my old childhood home now, and suddenly the passage of time feels like a knife to the chest, a painful stabbing by the one thing you never thought would betray you. I step out of my car and slowly make my way up the stairs to my childhood home, each piece of wood creaking under my weight as I stepped, threatening to collapse and make us both another tragic victim at the hands of time and human neglect. Coming up to the front door, I stop for a moment and think about how the shade of blue that was once so vibrant now appears dull and worn. I place my hand on the faded gold knob, taking care to open the door very gently so as not to disturb any of the beautiful memories that were made inside once upon a time, and take a step inside. Breath catching in my lungs, I look around the place that was once the only home I ever knew and let out a muffled cry. Listening closely, I swear I can hear the sound of my father’s grand piano in the distance, the old, familiar of tune of Beethoven’s “Moonlight Sonata” wafting through the empty halls.

I inch closer to where the sound is coming from, and there I am, just nine years old and wide-eyed, sitting on the carpet next to my father, looking up at him as he practices like he always did on Sundays. Suddenly my mother enters, as young and beautiful as ever, wearing my great-grandmother’s apron and carrying a plate of cookies to the little coffee table next to our fireplace. My father, changing the melody to “Amazing Grace” now, looks down at me with loving eyes and asks if I want to play. Just before I can answer, I find myself swept away into the kitchen.

I’m twelve going on thirteen now, and my older sister is trying to teach me how to bake. With flour all over my new Easter dress, I laugh hysterically as I dust my white-covered hands over my sister’s head, watching as she screams with a mixture of delight and surprise.

Just then, I’m in my room, sixteen and pretty, looking in the mirror with complete and utter dissatisfaction. Staring down at the way my thighs stick too close together and how my red and green plaid skirt only serves to accentuate the fact, I knit my eyebrows together and throw my hands up dramatically. “That’s it! I’m not going!”, I say, as I crash down onto the foot of my bed and pout.

Next thing I know, I’m eighteen, and running to answer the front door, applying more lip gloss as I stumble down the stairs two at a time. Outside stands Cody Petters, my longtime crush and the boy I swore I was going to marry someday. He led me out to his brand-new BMW, his hand in mine, and we were off.

I’m twenty-one now, sick of my stupid family and this stupid old town, and I’m packing my bags, suitcase in one hand and engagement ring on the other. I stop to look back at my house, not knowing how much I’d miss it at the time, and speed away with my GPS set for Miami.

Coming back to my senses now, I’m forty-four (going on forty-five) again, looking around the dusty remnants of the house that I should have cherished just a little bit more when I had the chance. I walk outside past the weather-battered swing set with one swing and only half of a slide, and get back in my car. As I back out of the driveway and into the road, GPS set for Miami, I stop to take one last look at my house. Feeling like I might start crying again, I force myself to think of all the good times I had in that little worn-down home. I think of the warmth and the memories and the safety it provided me, and I smile, knowing that I was happy. “I was happy”, I think to myself, “I was a happy child because of that old home and this old town. Though I can’t get the memories that I made here back, I now realize that I can take them with me wherever I go, because I carry them in my heart”. I pull into the main road and drive away, humming along to “Amazing Grace” as I go.

I'm happy, I realize in that moment.

And that was all that mattered.