May 2013
We met on a street out in the middle of Brunberry. Often times, we'd sit on the curb, watching the middle aged man in the corner house fix up his boat-of-a-car. Or, on Sundays, the chubby, bakery-esque woman would walk her grandchildren down the road to church. We were young, then. I still visit that street in Brunberry, and, in fact, it is called Feldspar Road. The man on the corner, with the old car? His name is Charles North, and he's a retired mechanic. The grandmother is dead now, but her daughter and grandkids moved in a couple years ago. I still come back and check up on those people, and I still watch the leaves fall in autumn and watch water pool around our favorite bench in spring. The air is just as crisp as when we were children. Feldspar Road is just as it was when we were young.
--
Just off of Feldspar Road, there is a park. Really, it's just a wide, open field, with unkempt grass that the neighborhood has picnics and late afternoon barbecues on. Do you remember when we stopped by the Feldspar block party on your twentieth birthday weekend? It was warm and the sun was blinding; a perfect July day for grilling out in the park. You pulled me down onto the dried grass and we watched all of the familiar people gabbing and gossiping with neighbors. Charles, grandma and the children, that young couple that had recently moved in. These people were like our family, even though we didn't live here. They made us feel at home.
--
It's October, and Feldspar Road is coated in bright yellow leaves. I haven't heard from you in a few months, but I'm sure you're doing okay. You've been busy with your new friends at your university a few states away. Feldspar misses you, as do I. Charles is getting old; his car sits, rusted, in the driveway. The young couple got divorced, and I'm pretty sure the girl kicked the boy out of the house. Things are getting dark, despite the turning leaves. I do sure hope you're doing okay. The park has a playground, now, and the few children in the neighborhood play there after school. I've memorized jump rope rhymes, patterns in cat's cradle, and the hardest hopscotch courses. I know you always loved kids, and watching them play makes me wish you could be here to laugh along with me.
--
I moved out to Kentucky this April. I needed to get away from home, and away from Feldspar Road. I visited much too often, and after Charles died, and all new people lived on the block, I felt out of place. Whatever made Feldspar feel like home was gone. It's been years since I saw you, and I can only assume you've found someone to love, someone to lay in the grass with, someone to marry. Me? I'm starting to meet new people in the area. I like to spend my time out in the fields by the border. It's quiet, unless you count the crows and crickets. It's peaceful, and standing there in the breeze, with the wheat up to my chest, watching the sky turn bright orange in the evening, makes me feel a bit happier. A little less lonely and a little more at home.
--
Just off of Feldspar Road, there is a park. Really, it's just a wide, open field, with unkempt grass that the neighborhood has picnics and late afternoon barbecues on. Do you remember when we stopped by the Feldspar block party on your twentieth birthday weekend? It was warm and the sun was blinding; a perfect July day for grilling out in the park. You pulled me down onto the dried grass and we watched all of the familiar people gabbing and gossiping with neighbors. Charles, grandma and the children, that young couple that had recently moved in. These people were like our family, even though we didn't live here. They made us feel at home.
--
It's October, and Feldspar Road is coated in bright yellow leaves. I haven't heard from you in a few months, but I'm sure you're doing okay. You've been busy with your new friends at your university a few states away. Feldspar misses you, as do I. Charles is getting old; his car sits, rusted, in the driveway. The young couple got divorced, and I'm pretty sure the girl kicked the boy out of the house. Things are getting dark, despite the turning leaves. I do sure hope you're doing okay. The park has a playground, now, and the few children in the neighborhood play there after school. I've memorized jump rope rhymes, patterns in cat's cradle, and the hardest hopscotch courses. I know you always loved kids, and watching them play makes me wish you could be here to laugh along with me.
--
I moved out to Kentucky this April. I needed to get away from home, and away from Feldspar Road. I visited much too often, and after Charles died, and all new people lived on the block, I felt out of place. Whatever made Feldspar feel like home was gone. It's been years since I saw you, and I can only assume you've found someone to love, someone to lay in the grass with, someone to marry. Me? I'm starting to meet new people in the area. I like to spend my time out in the fields by the border. It's quiet, unless you count the crows and crickets. It's peaceful, and standing there in the breeze, with the wheat up to my chest, watching the sky turn bright orange in the evening, makes me feel a bit happier. A little less lonely and a little more at home.
