Northern_Lights_2014

Never Going Back By Mina Solinger When asked to describe the word “home,” people will say that it is a place where they’re always wel- come. This is where they feel free to be themselves, and to be surrounded by people who love and care for them. It’s their safe haven. Mine, however, is not like this. My home can be described as abandoned and desolate, both spiritually and physically. The only reason I’m here is because of my sister, Jenny. She wanted me to move my stuff out of the house before it was sold. I stood in the driveway, shaking. I haven’t been here in a really long time, but the building looks exactly the same as when I left. The brown paint is starting to fade and the windows were in need of some TLC. I could tell that the yard hasn’t been maintained in a long time because the grass is as half- way up my calves. The beautiful rose garden that was the envy of the neighborhood is now hidden by the tall grass and weeds. Broken stone steps lead to the white door with the spiral window; the one I slammed all those years ago. When I walked through the front door, I immediately tensed up. All of the pain and sorrow from those years show on the walls. The grey paint is darker in some places and chipped away in others, exposing the white wall underneath. There are only three pictures hanging up by the door. One is of Daddy when he was younger and is dressed in his military uniform. I don’t remember much of him. He died in The Great War a long time ago. Mama said he was a good man and a wonderful father. The other two pictures are of Jenny and me; one from our childhood and one from when we were older. The first thing I noticed when I walked in was the dining room. The table still has one broken leg. The phonebook is still under it. Around it were three wooden chairs. They are in the same sorry shape as the small table. Just like everything else in this house, they were beaten and destroyed beyond repair. The kitchen used to be the only thing that wasn’t dingy or wore out in the house. Mama loved to cook, even though she burnt or overcooked everything. She would always say that a clean kitchen is a happy home. Chuckling, I remembered so many times Jenny and I would run in after playing outside and putting dirty prints on everything. Mama was not happy and made us clean it up. Now everything covered in a few inches of dust and dirt. Spider webs have formed in the corners of the small kitchen window and the single stainless steel sink. Feeling slightly uncomfortable, I quickly walk through toward the living room “Jenny? Are you here?” I yell. I noticed that the yellow couch had a red blanket piled up on corner and boxes are placed around the old wooden staircase. She’s definitely been busy. The only thing that was the same was the rocking chair next to the huge picture window. “Have a seat, I’ll be right down!” she yelled from upstairs. Sitting on the wooden rocking chair, I began to think about all the memories in this house. There were ones from my childhood that make me smile. I remember when Mama would sit me on her lap and rock me to sleep. When she was in her good moods, she used to tell Jenny and me stories of princes and princesses, knights and their battles, and queens and kings who ruled far off countries. I remember all of the times she 25