We’re moving.
Marlborough. Pond View Ln. Apartment 3109. These are the three addresses of my childhood. Marlborough, Massachusetts is nothing but faded stories to me. Told by my homesick siblings. At five, my life began to shape itself on Pond View Ln, Georgia. A suburban neighborhood locked in on itself by chains of winding roads. For seven years, I lived on this street. The street became a river of water, of lava, a race track, every kids’ imagination flowing into the street. Until the street became nothing.
We’re moving.
The words that unlocked the chains. Letting reality crash through like the water striking at the bottom of a waterfall. My dad explained to me that money was hard to find. The words real estate, market crash, and closer to work meant nothing but leaving. The last day of school I rode the bus in silence. I shed not a single tear. Not even when I said goodbye. Reality didn’t exist on that street. Apartment 3109, was a slap in the face by the strong and rough hands of reality. I spent the summer locked away in the apartment. Kids played below. I craved to join them. But something caught in my throat. Paralyzed. This is how I discovered anxiety. Anxiety gripped me tight. It had tighter grip than the freedom of childhood. Growing up on a street, friends come from the circumstances of growing up together. My circumstance now was new kid. A whole summer locked alone, left a lot time to think. Apartment 3109 was a box where thoughts bounced off the wall and came back to the mind with a faster speed than which they escaped. When summer finally ended, school pulled me out of my solitude. I made friends slowly but surely. The city gave me a new freedom. Exploring the streets instead of being locked in them. Adventure not in imagination. I regained my confidence. A comfort, I thought was lost, returned. Like the satisfaction of losing a favorite toy long ago and finding it buried deep in the toy chest, while not even searching for it. I’m just now restarting my life. It’s four months later now.
We’re moving.
I hear the words again and for the first time, I cry. Time to look in the toy box again.