Sycamore Lanes

There were silver, rusted knobs that shook every time you would reach for it and that would turn loosely in your hand as you opened the door. You would step onto the worn carpet and ignore the large brown stains that covered too much of it. The brown couches took up the living room while simultaneously blinding you with its hideous pattern. You’d feel as if you had a rash forming just from glancing at its itchy fabric. “How could anyone spend their days here?” You’d ask yourself.

You’d wander to the kitchen where the walking space was cramped and narrow, passing the dining table shoved in the corner, enough to fit five kids, and through to the hallway. You’d look to your left to see a bed for two with a faded green comforter and a crib in the corner. You’d look to your right and see a master bathroom with products you’re too young to understand the purpose of. You’d know that both these rooms were forbidden, especially to certain children.

You’d take only a few steps down the darkened hallway past the wall of cabinets stuffed to the brim with extra blankets and towels. You’d cross the threshold to the master bedroom where there was a rainbow dresser one on end with scattered video games on top. You’d wonder why there were so many places to sit around the small room only to realize that they weren’t just seats, but beds. A futon on the far side, a fold out chair on the other, bunk beds squeezed into the left corner and a trundle bed practically taking up the center.

Your heart would jolt with each memory as you looked at the posters on the walls: a sketch of a demented clown for the eldest, a baseball roster for the second oldest, a signed picture of a boy band for the only girl, and a homemade wrestling championship belt taped to the wall for the youngest. Personality splattered ever inch of the master bedroom morphing into one family and the seven years spent within the spatially challenged walls. You would think back to what it was like to be one of them. Yet, the unseen cracks and flaws under the carpet, folded in between the blankets, spread on the dining table, living in the walls, hidden behind the posters eat away your insides the same way they did since you were five.   

*Photo Credit*

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