Long Way Home

Ironic. It’s funny how the little things seem to have the largest effect on me. What began as a warm evening stroll would turn into time of reflection. I was walking down an old block that I lived on in a suburb outside of New York City. As I was meandering down to small hill at the beginning of the street, my mind was flooded. Memories began to swell in my mind, and I became flustered to say the least.

I was overcome with many emotions as I advanced through the small street that was adjacent to the local railroad track. Fuck You trains was my immediate thought! Like clockwork, the trains would barrel on through the late hours of the night and aided my so-called insomnia. I was taken back by seeing the cascading tops of the houses with colorful displays as, if anything, it was vibrant and lacked humdrum continuity. I realized in that moment I had a penchant for keeping my head in the clouds with my eyes slightly on the road to this day. The same houses that once stood tall seemed smaller in stature.

Unfortunately, there were no trees on the road from the hill to my house and I always felt that it lacked the natural touch for my daily walk home from school; however, the small stream that ran through the road would ignite memories of adventuring as a young kid with my friends, slaying mystical beasts and chartering the great unknown. As I came to the corner of the first cross street, I stared at my old house which was comfortably located on the corner. I questioned why the ill-equipped stop sign was still there. As a teenager, my friends and I confiscated it on an occasion or two.

It was a relatively quiet block although the park across the street had many characters to say the least. As I looked away from my old house and walked along the side of the park, I recalled a lot of memories in my teen years. Basketball and football games were played well into the night only continued with intense games of manhunt. Any notion of good weather meant my siblings and I were hanging out and causing a ruckus all within proximity to the house. As I investigate the park, I reminisce my first kiss on the aged swing set that had now been replaced with a new one. In fact, the park was recently remodeled, and this seemed to be the only renovations on the block from the last time I walked down it. Everything felt the same, but different.

As I looped back to double the block from the other side of the street, my emotions began to expose themselves as I made a slight smirk and thought of myself living there at the time. I was foolish to have felt captive. Stuck in a rut fueled by teen angst, I could not wait to get out of there. I didn’t come to terms that some of my best memories were on this small strip in the middle of someone’s nowhere.

Flashbacks began to overwhelm me! Drunk, running from cops with friends to hide in my backyard until the coast was clear. Watching the lightning storms rip through the town and striking the middle of the road as my friends as I watched from the porch. Throwing rocks at the trains and walking the tracks when I wanted to try smoking weed for the first time.

I walked along the street as there was no sidewalk across the park. I embraced the pavement and sunk into warmth as I missed the scenery! As I get back to the sidewalk, I appreciate the familiar unevenness and little bumps along the way. I began to slow my speed. Nostalgic and too many emotions to handle, I wasn't ready to leave! It’s funny because in my need to get away I realized that this was the perfect place to be. It was my home and a great place to grow up, trains included.