The street is called Lauralan Dr, but my memories preceed memories of the street. The very end of the street is covered over with brush. The road just before this is dirt, patchy with many potholes. It hurts to walk on it. but there, in the middle of this space of road is..
Nap-time at daycare –
Me: I can’t sleep.
Adult: You at least need to try.
Me: I’m not tired.
Adult: Then lay down and pretend to sleep.
Me (Out within seconds)
Further up the road…
My grandfather’s magnifying glass. A pyramid-shaped handle connecting off-centered to a metal frame which wrapped a rectangular lens. Burning leaves with sunlight by holding the magnifying glass at the right angle and distance. A cloudy day – no sun – nothing to do. Twist the handle off. The frame comes apart and the lens comes out. Don’t break it. It is valuable. It is a relic left from the life of a person who could not leave new ones. I don’t want to or feel unable to play with my peers. I liked to draw. But I have no paper out here. Drawing future cities. At Granny’s house. There is a TV show about drawing. The man who hosts the show is always drawing these incredible futuristic cities. Drawing gets me praise. I am smarter than other kids. My answer to “What will you be when you grow up?” is “Architect”. I’m told this will mean I can draw for a job. My grandparents love me – my mother’s parents and my father’s mother. I don’t remember father’s father, but I pray to him. In a way, I ask God to hand over the spiritual phone and God does. I believe my grandfather looks over us and I have conversations with him, imagining his side of the conversations. I recognize the fact that I am different as an inescapable truth. It is a part of being me. My family loves me. This is all I need.
I can draw a map to Lauralan Dr, but this road is no longer home. The only place this road, the road detailed ever so slightly above still exists is in its incomplete state in my head.