There was this house......

212 was on the corner. When you faced the house, on the left was a smallish dirt road leading up to some small houses that were in back of 212 -- waaaay away in the back. On the right of the house was another dirt road (a different kind of dirt road, almost paved), larger than the one on the other side of the house and connecting to a street going into downtown Pratt City. 212 faced a rather large paved (but not busy) street. Across the dirt road on the left was my godmother's house. Across the dirt road on the right and up an incline were railroad tracks. The only other house within close proximity was at the end of the dirt road running along the right. If I had known of To Kill a Mockingbird at the time, I probably would have suspected that Boo Radley lived there.

That's how the cousins and I thought about that house. We were suspicious of it. I don't know why. It was not run-down, but it was almost hidden by shrubbery and small trees. Shrouded in mystery. I never remember coming in contact with anyone who lived there. But I do remember standing in MomP's side yard gazing at that house, imagining all sorts of unsettling things. When we walked to the small store right across the street from that house we'd always quicken our pace.

I remember a story one of the older cousins told. The theater in downtown Pratt was still open when she was growing up. One evening she and an older male cousin went to a movie. It must have been some kind of horror flick because, as she told the story, they were scared as they walked out of the theater. It was dark and they had to walk back to 212. She said they almost ran most of the way back, until they got close to that house. And, for some reason, as they approached that house they stopped, turned back to back, locked their arms together and (somehow) waddled walked by the house. I still smile at this part thinking how foolish they must have looked.

It's odd to me how there are some places and some people who just give me the willies. Often, as in To Kill a Mockingbird, those feelings have no basis. My grandmother had most likely just told us kids to keep away from that house so we wouldn't bother the people and in our quest for adventure we'd just let our imaginations run wild. As long as it worked, MomP probably never saw the need to say anything different.

And....speaking of To Kill a Mockingbird. I can't believe how long it was before I knew that Dill was modeled on Truman Capote. For the longest, I didn't even know Capote spent many childhood summers in Alabama. I didn't know of Harper Lee's importance in Capote's In Cold Blood. Kind of sad for a gal born and bred in Alabama.

Troubled dreams

The house on Avenue Z, and all that happened there, played such an important role during my years growing up. I can still vividly recall the details of the house and yard -- more so than any of the houses my parents, brothers and I lived in during that time. Looking back, 212 must have been a touchstone for my mom, and I guess my brothers and I (and maybe many other cousins) felt calm and secure there. It was safe. It was a shelter. If things were rocky at home, we knew we could run to 212 where all would be better. It was more than a house. It was a haven.

As happens when time passes, neighborhoods change. It happened in Pratt City. During my college years the aunts decided MomP and Gindaddy should move. The house was old. My grandparents were aging. The neighborhood was declining. So a committee of aunts, one uncle, and several older cousins decided where my grandparents should move. I was away at school when the move occured so I wasn't involved, but I can't imagine how they went through the accumulation of a life time. I remember hearing that they had a local junk dealer come and pick up all the dark mahogany, oversized furniture -- along with those well-remembered chifferobes. The ones no one wanted at the time. The ones I would love to own now.

So it was that I never had a chance to say good-bye to the house on Avenue Z. I was so busy with my life that I don't remember being bothered by this -- at the time. But, as the years wore on things started to change. Time and again I found my thoughs traveling back through the years, back to Pratt City. And I started having dreams. Dreams about going back to 212 Avenue Z. And the dreams were dark and troubling. This surprised me because all my memories are good and comforting.

Here are the details I remember of a dream I had more than once: I was old enough to drive myself up (or rather down the street) to the house. I parked in front of the house and got out. As I walked up to the steps I saw MomP standing on the front porch -- smiling and waiting for me. I started up the steps confused because even in my dream I knew MomP was dead. When I climbed the stairs to the porch I saw Gindaddy standing in the front door. More confusion because I was aware he was dead, too. I walked inside, very confused, yet hoping it was somehow true, and thinking how much I would love to feel their hugs once again.

It was dark inside the house and I couldn't see well, but I knew I was trying to make my way back to the kitchen. Here again I was aware that the house was different. It was too dark. Too unreal -- sort of. But....I wanted so much to get to the kitchen. I was excited thinking how, maybe, I could be with my grandparents again in real life. I wanted this so much. I knew they were gone, but there was this hope in me that was so real.

The dream ended as I walked into the eeriely dark -- empty -- kitchen.

I have no idea what meaning to attach to the dream. And I have no idea why it chose this unseasonably warm, muggy, windy day to trouble my thoughts.