Going Home

Going Home

“It is the hottest day of this year of August 2019”, the radio announcer said before I got out of my car. The temperature showed 114 degrees.

I stepped out of the car and was standing where I once played with my sisters and brothers. I stood in my old play yard in front of the house where I was raised. The blaring sun did not affect me while I stood still in the heat with my big, broad, brimmed sun hat, water bottle in my hand, wearing polarized sunglasses, covered in SPF 30 lotion smeared on my bare skin. Even if I was not decked out in sun protection gear, the sun would not have bothered me here in the south Texas heat. It didn’t bother me as a kid, and I would not let it bother me now.

I was happy to see the old house had fallen down to the ground. I grew up in that house without air conditioning, running water or inside toilet. So, it didn’t break my heart to see it was unlivable for another family. If the authorities had seen how we lived in this dilapidated house 50 years ago, they would have condemned it. But back then nobody interfered with other families. Live and let live was the mantra of that time era.

I heard the crunch of small rocks under my sandals as I stepped closer to the front of the house. Suddenly there were cries from a small child just to the right of me. I quickly looked that way and could see a two year old girl crying as she ran from the dung beetles chasing after her while poop ran out of her panties. Then I saw her siblings standing around watching, pointing and laughing. I walked in that direction to help the little girl, when she disappeared. Tears ran down my face as I remembered that scene. The little tanned girl, with the curly dark hair running frantically from the bugs was me. My heart hurt. I turned away, wiped away the tears and sweat that ran down my face.

Why had I come back here I asked myself? A slight breeze blew the hat from my head. I chased after it to the back of the house. I saw sheets and towels, little girl dresses and little boy jeans hanging from the clothesline that ran from the derrick of the windmill to the old brooder house. I ran to grab them. I wanted to smell the familiar sunshine in them and wrap myself up in them. My sunglasses fell off my face as I reached to touch the sheets only for the sheets to disappear. I turned around trying to understand what was going on.I heard voices, giggles and laugher from the front of the brooder house. I ran to the happy laughter and saw teenage girls washing clothes in a wringer washing machine.

“Be careful!” I screamed. “You can get your hair caught in that wringer!” I ran up to make sure they heard me. They too disappeared as I approached. I jerked my head around looking for my sisters. They were not there.

“Look for the bottles with the plastic lid,” I heard a boy shout out from behind the brooder house.

“Better leave those bottles alone,” yelled a young girl. “Come out of that trash pile. There’s no telling what dirt is on that old bottle!” she commanded.

“We will wash it off,” the boy yelled back and picked up the bottle anyway. “Let’s go to the water hydrant and fill it with water,” he said and ran out of the trash pile to the hydrant.

I watched from a distance as he cleaned the bottle, filled it with water and put it to his mouth.

I ran up to him screaming, “No, don’t drink from that. It has all kinds of germs that can harm you!” I yelled with worry for him. I thrusted my water bottle out to him but dropped it as he was not there when I approached the outdoor faucet. I looked around for him.

“What is going on?” I asked myself again as I walked into a wall of a small 10 x 10 building that was barely standing. The front door was covered with a filthy canvas that was just threads now. I managed to step around the door that was hanging by its hinges. The room was empty with the exception of paper dolls on a long counter. I picked up the paper dolls and next to them were some paper clothes. The paper doll and its paper dress had been partially eaten away by mice. I stood there looking at the playthings from so long ago. I placed a paper ball gown on the paper model, folded the tabs over the shoulders, and around the waist. “Are you ready for the ball, Betty?” I asked the paper doll and giggled. Then they disintegrated in my hands and fell to what was left of a floor. Memories of the past caused tears to surface. I wiped them away smearing dirt across my face that had mixed in with the tears. I stepped carefully back out of “the room”.

I noticed the back of my old home was partially intact. I walked up to what was left of a screen door. “Do I dare go inside? It might fall down around my ears if I do.”

I walked up to it and gently moved the door aside. As soon as I stepped inside, something jumped up at me and clucked its way outside. “A chicken? Was that a chicken?” I said to myself with my hand over my heart as it about scared me to death. I looked out the door but the chicken was long gone.

I stooped down under the fallen roof to enter the next room. The ceiling and roof had caved in. “Why am I doing this?” I kept asking myself.

“Move out of the way of the t.v.!” he screamed. I jumped back and stumbled over a bucket that was once used to catch the rain through the holey roof. I heard giggling and whispers. I peeked around the corner and saw children of different ages rushing to get out of the view of the t.v. I couldn’t control the laughter bubbling inside my stomach as I found myself laughing out loud.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, a man, my daddy, was chasing a cat through the house with a broom yelling, “Scat! Scat! You damn cat.” The cat he was chasing was running as fast as it could while scratching the floor trying to get away from the mad man.

I bent over laughing at the scene I was watching. When I stood up there was nothing there but pieces of roof blocking my way to go further.

I turned around as sadness overtook me. I glanced around at the familiarity of what was left of my childhood home. I tripped on a piece of flooring and fell onto a wall that was still standing. I noticed lines drawn on the wall with what seemed like markings of our heights with our names and dates. It was hard to make out the numbers, so using my hand, I dusted off the dirt and read my name.

“Annie, September 1958, 4 ft 7 inches,” I read out loud. The other readings were impossible to make out. I stood there looking at that wall and slowly turned and carefully eased out.

“Hello?” came a rickety old voice of an elderly woman.

“Hi,” I said as I stepped out of the house.

She was an older woman with gray hair rolled into a low bun at the base of her neck and round wire rimmed glasses. She was frail looking and the down-turned lips expressed unhappiness. She was dressed in an old, drabby dress that reached her ankles. Her spiderweb looking skin that covered her hands showed the roadmap of her life.

“Is your daddy home?” she asked.

“No mam,” he isn’t.

She looked disappointed. She turned away and placed her foot one in front of the other and faded in the sunbeams from the sky.

I blinked my eyes trying to get the scenes playing in my head to make sense.

I found myself back in the front yard heading to a clump of brush and mesquite trees.

“Let’s bury him here,” the little boy said. “He will be in the shade all the time,” he said and began digging.

I watched as they placed the dog in the hole and covered him up. He and the other two girls beside him talked about all the animals they had buried in that clump of trees. They each said something sweet about their longtime friend, Bullet, named after Roy Rogers dog. I bent my head and said a little prayer, too, remembering that burial of Bullet. I looked up and the clump of trees were nothing but overgrown south Texas brush and cactus. As it used to be, there was plenty of shade as the sun’s rays barely penetrated through their thorny bushes.

“Grandma?” I heard a little voice say. “Grandma?" The tiny voice sounded far away, and I could barely hear it.

My weak eyes fluttered open. I looked into the brown eyes of my beautiful granddaughter, Merry.

“Are you ok?” she asked.

Then my daughter leaned in and took my hand.

“Mom, you were dreaming,” she quietly said.

I closed my eyes and smiling I said, “Let me go home. Just let me go home.”