South Carolina

The stagnant, steamy air clings to every memory I have of that nearly perfect place. Muted light and mosquitoes buzzing around my ankles linger in the thoughts. Bending and reaching in all directions, unkempt grass covers the yard. Sun-bleached and skinless, a snake lies on the cracked, flaking concrete surrounding the emerald colored pool. I can’t remember a time where the pool wasn’t that deep emerald color. Rusted metal and moldy wood barely hold together the dilapidated trailer rotting against the chain link fence. Mirrored walls and tiny carousel horses haunt my mind, bringing waves of grief and peace all at once. The newspapers resting on the window seat, holding the pungent scent of cigarette smoke within their inky skin, still lay there in my mind. Washing over me are the earthy smells of rain and soil. The careless way the porch swing creaked and swayed, letting its rhythm drift away in the nighttime air has its place in my memory. That stunning tree towering over the grassy lawn will eternally exist in the images I have of the house.

I remember when I jumped out of the car to see that colossal stump greeting me instead of my tree. A part of my soul shrank back, horrified. The realization that this beautiful place in all its sameness could change broke my heart. Soon, more things shattered and what was once magical became less and less captivating. The spell broke. My tree was gone; the porch swing snapped in half; the mirrored walls were torn down; the carefully wrapped carousel horses went in boxes. All the love that had rested on the surface of the well-worn hardwood and trampled grass sank down. But every once in a while, when I call upon those foggy memories, a wisp of those feelings floats up, allowing me to remember the awe I had for the sweet little couple that once lived down the big hill in a little town in South Carolina.