Kingsway: A Short Story

I saw my father, young and determined, working at the crack of dawn in the brickyard, while my mother stayed home to childproof their small apartment. Using the potent mixture of caffeine and chemicals contained in Mountain Dew, he was able to resist the urge to doze off during his daily classes. I saw myself running around the large oak tree that dwarfed our first house, and couldn’t help but smile as I thought about my mom, pregnant with my sister, walking me to the library to play with the puppets and pick up books about my favorite dinosaurs. I saw the terrifying night that the oak tree was stuck by lightning, and heard my mothers voice over the phone at school, eagerly telling me about my new baby brother. My stream of consciousness was broken as we entered the scorching area where they bake the bricks, but I quickly zoned out again as my grandpa began to explain the technical aspects of brickmaking. This time, the memories took place in a new house, as our cozy home had turned claustrophobic with the addition of a fifth member. Quiet walks to the library were replaced with chaotic days at the pool. The cards began to pick up speed, as I got deeper into my life. The dark years of middle school, when my hair covered my eyes and I

I leaned my head against the car window watching the leaves blowing around, just trying to distract myself from a slight feeling of emptiness inside of me. This feeling seemed all too familiar to me. My family and I had all of our possessions packed into boxes yet again. We were moving to a new state. At this point, up rooting our lives and starting over almost seemed more like a hobby than anything more significant. However, I have just now come to realize that what seemed like constant inconveniences in the past, have actually taught me how to be the best me with influences all around the country. Living in three different states and five homes may have been a challenge, but it provided me with memories that I wouldn’t trade for anything because those moments created the person I am today.

It had finally arrived. Moving day. I was finally leaving my home in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania after five short years and a sort of gloom lingered in the air. Although many teenagers would be excited to reunite with their family, friends, and childhood home, I, however, was frightened of the future. I woke up that morning and just laid there and listened to the sound of the rain pittering against the roof and windows, pattering against the surrounding forest in which I shared many memories. After what felt like centuries of just listening and reflecting, I got up and looked out the window. I looked at my neighbor's house across the field of grass which separated our houses and at the kids who had become like my siblings. I looked at the ice

Being in the home was like a separate world, one between life and death. When I reached the outside world again everything seemed so fresh. There were bright yellow-green leaves that hung with an arrogant vivacity, cars that sped by with such fervor, wind blowing with verve and energy, lively children playing with a vivacious lust for life, and the vitality that exudes from the air into your lungs. I wanted to bring this energy into

Tranquil gusts kissed my skin; the sweet sensation of a breeze and the rustle of the trees’ leaves sung me a lullaby. As I lie, back to my trampoline and limbs sprawled, my mind would undergo a sort of cleansing, ridding me of my troubles. My home held my childhood; it possessed memories that had accumulated from day one, intertwining and condensing them to forge a place that would bear peace and serenity. I never contemplated departure, even when it was apparent my parents sought for a better place to reside, for no place could replace my home. Alas, my assumptions were proven to be erroneous.

Everything seems like it’s falling out of place. “How did this happen?” I asked myself. Our car pulls into the driveway of our new house, and I feel like a stranger in this new town, nine hours away from the only place that felt like home. “We’re here!” my mom exclaims. My family can’t be happier to be here, but I feel like my world is falling apart. I had to say goodbye to Wisconsin, and hello to Michigan.

Looking through the dusty back window of the 1998 Volkswagen we were in, I sat and watched the colony disappear from view as the dark night began to swallow it whole. I had wanted to leave for forever, but there was always a firm grasp which kept me there, my family. A single tear slips from my eye, rolls down my wind-burnt cheek, and clings tightly to my chin before its final descent into the open air. As a child, I too clung tightly to familiarity, but now, with my future at stake, it's time to flee, to leave behind everything, and embrace the rush of the unknown. I reach my hand across the center console and rest it on the back of Ethan’s soft hand. The warmth of his love momentarily fills the lull in my heart where my

Making her way toward the sidewalk, she turned right on Doveland Drive. Without a car, Anita must walk two and a half miles to reach Forest Creek Lane, the predominantly upper-class part of town. As she walked, her stomach turned as if she had ridden a fast carnival ride and no matter what she tried to calm her nerves, her attempts were futile. When she reached the street, she couldn't help but stare in awe at the beautiful houses that lined it. Some had the latest car park in front, others had empty spaces while the owner was at work. Anita imagined handsome doctors carrying briefcases and housewives wearing wearing the latest fashions. Anita, at 22, still lived with her parents in the not-so-nice part of town, where houses where becoming dalapitated and the roads and sidewalks were cracked and never fixed. Always feeling as if she didn't belong where she lived, she often imagianed what it would be like to live as other

He had already packed everything he wanted to take with him, but left most of his possessions unpacked as he feared it would be a reminder of his previous life. As he was packing his items into his car, his neighbor Mr. Lauterbach came outside and noticed Arthur packing his things. “Hello Mr. Raeburn!” Greeted Mr. Lauterbach. “Why are you packing up your things?” Arthur was caught by surprise at first, he hadn’t thought about being seen by his neighbor. “I’m packing for a road trip,” lied Arthur, “I’ll be staying at a log cabin up north for a few days.” “I see. Well, I don’t want to be late for the bus now, so I’ll talk to you some more when you get back from your vacation!” Said Mr. Lauterbach. He started walking down the sidewalk towards the bus stop, and Arthur began packing quicker so he wouldn’t be caught by anymore people. After packing his things, Arthur got into his car, and started it. Pulling out of his driveway, he took a deep breath, knowing that this would be the last time he would see the town he grew up in. He began driving down the street, seeing everybody he pass smile and wave at him. However, he didn’t smile or wave back, as he had already abandoned his old life and began his new one. After he got out of town, he realized something. His depressing old life is nothing but the past; therefore, so are his sad memories. He had no reason to be sad anymore and felt something he hasn’t felt in ages, and that feeling is happiness. Nobody has heard from Mr. Raeburn

I glanced down at my watch with anticipation that I was about to be late, but the sun was barely visible beyond the trees of the park I was passing. "Four-thirty." I muttered sadly. I knew that this was going to be a day to remember, and yet had no idea why I felt that way. The cobblestones beneath my feet clacked in time with my breathing as the unconscious part of myself felt the urge to run. I sprinted the rest of the way to Main Street.

As I lay in bed on a fall evening, an open window lets in a cool breeze accompanied with sounds of crickets and a faint train horn blare. As I peer out into the dark night sky I see an ebony sky glittered with stars. A sense of calm washes over me and I know I’m right where I’m meant to be! It’s a small town, Galt, with a population under 23,000. I didn’t grow up here, but it’s where I’ve lived for the past ten years, and it’s where I’ve chosen to raise my children. The town is a combination of city and farm living. Children from the same school either take a long bus ride through the desolate and diminishing backroads every morning, or a short walk through the peaceful and charming subdivisions to reach their destination. There is a mixture

As I drove past the Russell Stover headquarters, the song “My Way” started to play. As I sat at a red light, I anticipated my favorite lyric of the song. Before I knew it, the song was almost over. Realizing I had missed the lyric, I restarted the song. The light turned green and I continued down the road. As I drove, I saw the building that one of my friend’s family owns. From there, my mind was as far away from Frank Sinatra as it could get.

Meanwhile, mid-morning rain brought a unique smell of wetness an earthy odor of damp dirt that no flower has an aroma of. Sounds of guffawing, loquacious, bubbly, effervescent and vivacious folks echo in the park. Another, fantabulous mouthwatering sweet hickory aroma fills the air from neighboring barbecue grills. Consequently, the more you inhaled the pleasant vapor it made your stomach growl of hunger wanting the palatable cuisine. Fresh cut grass and sweet fragrance speak of a day full of possibilities and work that one could do. High and weak is the winter sun, giving mid light and even less warmth. Scent of fresh air, so undefinable, so deliciously crisp, breathes a new breath in the stale air of winter that hangs on, giving it health and a set of wings for new life. Friends gather on the porch for escapades, relaxation and chow time.

In every direction I turn my head my eyes are greeted by the mass collection of hospitable pine trees, a cooling breeze making their deep emerald needles sway along, producing the warm aroma I could recognize from anywhere. As I’m sitting between the large worn rusty rails that run parallel to each other for miles I can feel the ballast against the bottom of my legs preparing to leave an temporary indention on my skin to reveal how I’ve sat, the sun is stooping below the treeline after bidding it’s final goodbyes until morning breaks. I am where I belong, where I’ve always known. I am home. This is not where I store my household objects such as my twin sized bed, my neon green and white toothbrush, or the wide variety of sentimental objects hanging from the crimson red walls of my bedroom, but it is home to so many memories from every point in my life. Here I sit at on the railroad tracks that produce the Gurdon Light, not scared, just reminiscing on all the memories I have gathered from this one simple piece of my hometown. I did not come here to thrive off the buzz it furnishes children with at night who fear contact with the light, or to bring a love interest with hopes of getting lucky enough to score a kiss, or with numerous cameras attempting to visually record the mysterious object this town thrives off of. I am here to plainly pay my respects to this site that has been so crucial to

You first have to know that your day will end with sweet potato cupcakes and walking home the same way you did in elementary school. There are new birdhouses hanging in the garden your girl scout troop planted years ago our legs will strain and hurt, but you can’t feel it, you've been on your feet since six this morning. You took the ritz crackers from kara’s house, and they taste amazing, because it’s the first thing you’ve eaten since seven. You should be tired, and grumpy, but instead you wonder what gives you the right to feel this lightness in your chest, thank god for water fountains and salt.