Week 5 Storytelling: Home

Journal Entry / 2:30 a.m. / 10/3/14

Elizabeth and I left Norman. We couldn’t leave until a little after 7 that evening. School was out for the weekend, and we were driving to my hometown to see my family. It was my mom’s birthday.

I’m writing this because the memory is so vivid at the moment. It was one of those nights that I’ll never forget. When old age greets me in my rocking chair, it will find me reminiscing on nights like this one – nights full of nostalgia.

These are my favorite nights. It’s almost like lucid dreaming – when you awake in the moment, realizing the vastness of life. When I realize you’re living a moment you’ll be nostalgic about later, I feel as though I transcend time. The moment ends, but it is eternal.

This was one of those nights. It was one of those cool, cool nights that follow summer. After winter, we notice the spring’s warmth. After the summer months, I find myself embracing the crisp coolness of autumn’s temperature.

We drove down Danforth road to my home. The windows were down. The stars were out. Every song meant something. Elizabeth and I sang together as the wind hit our face. The coolness gently apologized for its summer absence, and we forgave it quickly.

We pulled up to the house that my parents just built. They plan on flipping it and making some extra money, but I’m not sure if they ever could. The home fits them. It was a cool time to be at this house. It was like walking on the edge of the ocean at night. I felt so small next to the abyss of future memories that the home held.

We were a little late for dinner. It was a small gathering –mom and dad, Zach, Kendra, Stella and Conner. It reminded me of the night that Zach and Kendra were married, when baby Stella was barely a thought.

The sounds of laughter and the pouring of wine met us at the door. Conner got up and hugged me. Zach did too. For our ages being so far apart we are really close.

Dinner was over, but my parents were reclining at the table. My mother, who might be the most loving woman to ever live, asked, “What can I do for you?” Without answering, she made plates for Elizabeth and me.

We sat at the table for a long, long time. I’ve only recently come upstairs to go to bed. Elizabeth is sleeping. My eyes are getting heavy, but I just had to capture the eternity I witnessed tonight.

Image Information: 

Home

Source: Fresh Home

Author’s Note:

I took a section from Buck’s Ramayana and converted it to a modern day setting. I made my home in the likeness of Atri’s home, when Rama, Sita, and Lakshmana first arrived. Atri and Anasuya (my mother and father) welcomed Rama and Sita, and Buck’s description of Atri’s home was magnificent. Although there isn’t really a plot, I thought it would be cool to convey the setting I interpreted from Buck.

Bibliography:

Buck, William. Ramayana:. Berkeley: U of California, 1976. Print.