As the
white six paneled door slowly opens I am greeted by a long, narrow hallway. The walls, a light sky blue, are so close
together that they seem to dare me to touch both sides as I scuttle down the
hall toward the bedroom. One side of the
hall is filled with boxes, stacked neatly in a row about three feet high. The
main source of light comes from the ceiling fan. As the fan blades turn, I notice the smell of
cardboard. I look around at the near
empty room and I'm blasted with memories of the past few years that I have lived
in this house.
I remember hanging
pictures down the narrow hall, and helping my son pull out his first tooth. I remember my daughter asking me if I would
marry her, and having to explain to her why I could not. I remember having arguments with my wife in
this very spot. I also remember making up! The pictures have been taken down and now fill
the boxes down the hall. The lone
decorative on the wall is the bachelor’s degree that my wife painstakingly
earned just 3 years ago. It is a source
of pride to her, and of inspiration to me . I am sad to say goodbye to this
place, and at the same time, I am anxious to see what new memories can be made
in our next home.
