Flicking the light switch, up, then down, then repeating a
few times in a vain effort to change the known, a smile appears on my face and
I look down the long corridor. Serene, at peace, a long solemn but never
forgotten building. I’d lived here, as a child, until I thought that I was
ready to face the world, the great supposed known. I knew little back then,
probably still don’t know enough, but if I could I’d have probably stayed a
little bit longer.
I was eager, alive, full of energy, just like the walls in
front of me and probably as tough. They
most certainly no longer make houses like this. Running my fingers across the
wall, as I slowly walk forward, I close my eyes a little, remembering the daily
buzz. Playing with toys, from one end to the other, trying not to trip anyone
as they went. My Father, as with many Fathers, wasn't here that much or, if he
were, silence was the spoken tongue until he left again. Mother, as usual,
stayed to turn us into the adults we were destined to be. She tried her best,
being as magical as she was, always remaining someone to cherish, to look up
to, but like many things in this world… there is a time.
A momentary second of sadness floods my mind. I know that I'm
never alone but, no matter who I'm with, there will always be that space. This
building, with its mood filled light emanating through the window at the end of
this hallway, would always stay within a small little secret place within my
mind. Memories, mostly good, always a smiling event, bring with them a longing
to return to such easier days. I know that it won’t happen, it’s far too late
for that, but I can at least revisit one, last, little, time.
It’s odd to think, to realise, that no matter how many
oceans you travel, no matter the names you write across your lips, you still
return to those special places and moments. As children we might eventually let
go of the comfort blankets, the teddies of safety, but there will always be
moments that hold and comfort. I know that I don’t need such things, as I'm
supposed to be strong, a statue, never failing to protect the ones I love, but
there will always, always, be cracks just below that surface of valour. I do,
after all, harbour broken souvenirs that no-one will ever take from me.
I remember stamping my foot, in defiance, in this very
doorway all those years previous. My Mother, being the way she was, didn't
shout and simply waited for me to calm myself. Shouting didn't work, as we were
kids, my Sister and I, but what did work was common sense. Mother would
eventually sit me, while I was still in a mood, then calmly explain the circumstances. On this occasion, she said something that has
stayed with me right until this very day and that little slice of advice was
the following, “The longer you spend in a mood, the longer you waste time that
could be used playing. There’s a reason why Mother says no and, if you’d just
accept that, your life would be a lot easier”. I reflected for a long time, sat
there, using this silly brain of mine, to reach a conclusion that was obviously
obvious. Mother knew best. Always had. Always did. Always will.
This house, right now, was reaching the end of its life,
with a new dawn arriving, looking for a friend that was no longer there. Time
moves on, always, which means the old is eventually, in many cases, replaced
with the new. It’s a progression, it’s life, it’s the cycle we’re stuck within
and, even when this house and home is torn down I’ll still drive past and
remember. This place, right here, held my heart within my Mother’s hands. It’s
part of me. We all have places that are part of us.
As I reach the end of the corridor, I glance back down the
hallway, for the very last time. Nodding ever so slightly I remind myself to
never forget, to never let time fade my memories and moments. This place has
felt my tears, had my blood touch its surface in one of those grandiose
childish falls, heard me shout and held me so close. “Goodbye”, I said under my
breath.
For everything, there is a time.
