The empty walls echoed with the past. She stood in her room looking around at the life that had been. The stages that had brought her to where she was now. This had always been her room from that first day. The slanted roof, the oval window under one eave. It had just called to her and she had somehow listened.
As much as she would like to linger she knew she should do one more check for forgotten items. Still everything seemed to evoke memories. She remembered the padding down the stairs that now creaked with the footsteps of Christmas long ago.
Everywhere she looked there were reminiscences. Standing in the kitchen with all the dinners she had helped prepare, the breeze seemed to blow through long forgotten voices. The counters laden with holiday goodies seemed to make their ghostly presence known once again.
Her ride still hadn’t arrived as she stepped out the door to the little garden plot that had been there forever. The tree next door, even next door itself, life would go on she knew once she was separated from this place and it from her.
She walked around front restlessly looking at the basketball hoop still decorating one side of the driveway. Gray tar now stood alone where chalk drawings and hopscotch paths were once sketched out.
Things had changed over the years as they often do and she with them. She had walked these sidewalks more than once back and forth. Heading downtown and back again to her part time job.
She let out a sigh as she glanced down the street. This street which would always feel like home to her.
A tear trickled down her cheek as she headed back inside, waiting next to her belongings with a bittersweet anticipation. However much she would miss home, there was a new life now waiting for her. In another town, in another place. And she would embrace it. Her roots would take time to heal once ripped out, they would not settle into the new earth easily, It would be hard for awhile but she would settle down eventually. Then the new place would be home, and this house, this place, would be more of a memory of the past than a place of the present.
Her son’s car beeped out front, and she pulled her suitcase behind her, taking one last look around. Odd she thought how they always talk of a child leaving home for the first time but never contemplate on an adult leaving for the last.