My run today took me past 12855 Rife Way, the house we lived in two houses ago, the first house I actually remember living in.
Feeling a little nostalgic, I strayed from my planned route and turned onto Twin Trails, which took me past Sundance Elementary (now painted brick red and beige - what happened to the sky blue and cream? and the mural of a white fence intertwined with vines and flowers that was painted on the ESS building? I remember Christina Liou pointing out to me - scandalously - that a section of the vines looked like cleavage. I never could look at the mural the same way after that).
Then I turned into the park (I saw two people playing badminton on the basketball court, Jenn - and yes, they were Asian), which is also very different from the one I used to play in. The swings are right in the center of the park instead of the back, and that cage of death that I used to climb (so bravely, I thought) is no more. I ran down the path that I had walked down so many times with kids I never see anymore, past the hill responsible for the majority of my childhood grass stains. I was a little tempted to roll down it again - doesn’t look as steep anymore, but still excellent for rolling. There were people around, though, and I don’t think I’m that comfortable with myself yet.
After exiting the park, I carefully treaded down the small hill onto Sparren (my sister once tried riding her bike down that hill with no hands, which did not end nicely), past Geoffrey Sandt’s house (his sister Amber friended my sister and me on Facebook last year - so random), then finally turned left onto Rife Way. The dark, brooding house (whose occupants I think were responsible for the couple times my house was TP’ed) with the vicious looking tree in front still scared me a little, and I didn’t forget to turn my head to see the sign for Gunner, like I did when I used to have a crush on Jay Caparino, who lives up that street somewhere close to Erica Skoglund, who I never really lost my distaste for.
Now I’m almost home - there’s Ed’s house two doors down (I only remember his name, he lived with his wife - an elderly Asian couple. oh wait, his wife’s name is Grace. I really liked them), now Marta and Armando’s (Armando is out in front manning their garage sale, but he doesn’t recognize me and I’m gross and sweaty and don’t feel like this is the time for a reunion. I’m just recalling their two dogs - pretty tiny ones, but I used to be really scared of dogs. I was scared of theirs in particular because my sister told me that the mark on my leg was the scar from when one of their dogs bit me. When I was a little bit older - when I realized that the mark was actually a birthmark, and when I found out that being scared of dogs was really not cool - I tried getting over my fear by playing with them). Finally I arrive at 12855. I try looking for signs of my old home, something that will help me remember the house I grew up in. The first thing I think of is my hand print - when my dad replaced the patch of grass on the side of the driveway with bricks, there was a small sliver of dirt where the bricks wouldn’t fit, so he paved the area with cement. Excitedly, I asked him if I could leave a hand print in the wet cement. The sliver wasn’t big enough for me to stretch out my fingers, so I held my fingers together and left a very narrow hand print, along with my initials and the date, which I don’t remember anymore. The new occupant’s truck was parked over the bricks, though, and I decided crawling under the truck to take a look was probably inappropriate. I wonder how much bigger my hand is now.
The house looks pretty different - the front door is painted red with some (I think) Asian design. The spikey tall tree in front is gone (good riddance). The front yard is overgrown with roses and daisies, cheerful and pretty in an unkempt way. Remembering my house from the outside, though, doesn’t really make sense, since I spent most of my time inside it. Satisfied that my old house is being loved by a new family, I continue my run.
To end poetically, I run past our old house on Calderon and then Mesa Verde Middle School before returning home (I had already passed Westview). Three houses, three schools, more memories than I can count.
