A Vacant Lot

Site of my childhood.

I had heard from former neighbors that the home I lived in from ages 4 through 9 had fallen into disrepair. I drove by last week with my kids to show them, not sure what to expect.

I didn’t expect this.

It was leveled.

The only remaining trace of our existence was the driveway where my parents parked their matching red and blue Chevettes.

Gone was the rose bush outside my bedroom window. The backyard chestnut tree I basically grew up in. The two-story tree house my dad helped us build with the neighbor kids. The four o’clocks my mom planted, with their dark black seeds and ability to keep time. The honeysuckle we used to make “soup.” The pear tree. The paw paw tree. Blackberry bushes along the back fence. The apple tree that fell down once after a big rain. I called my dad at work to tell him and he accused me of lying. Which felt bizarre. Like, why would I lie about a tree falling down in the backyard? Also, Father, I cannot tell a lie about a tree. Anyway, when he got home from wor…