Well back to the story, disconjointed as it may be, maybe later I can go back and pull the story out of all this rambling. Let's see so.... I'm staring at those black speckled tiles and they're catapulting me back in time (like I almost steped into a time machine and I'm back practicing baton twirling or making out with my boyfriend, Steve.)
The man that lives in my house now says something about the paneling on the walls- the old knotty pine -that he painted it white. He's telling me that the second owner was a hairdreser and put in extra plumbing in a closet on the back wall of the basement, so this also made the basement look smaller than I remember; plus it was chock full of shit, including a piano.
Upstairs: the kitchen had a recent makeover and wasn't too bad. The living room with those little set of steps up to the bedrooms didn't look so good. I stood in my old bedroom and looked into the master bedrm. and bathrm, that also had been remodeled. Didn't have those little tiny tiles and no movie magazines with Elizabeth Taylor and Debbie Reynolds on the cover. The flight of stairs up to my brothers room were also smaller (less stairs) than I remember, thought they were longer/like the ones in my house now. Even went into the old attic - I loved that attic as a kid, thought it was cool. Shoulda made that into a room! The kids after us had written their names on the old cedar closet. Luke asked if I did, I don't remember but who knows maybe if we poked around more, we'd find some remant of our life there.
On the way back out we stop in the living room and I'm looking at the chinese art which is strange because my mom used to be into that stuff. Anyway he asks me if I remember Margaret from across the street? And he call her on the phone and tells her he has a girl here from the old neighborhood.....Rachael . And I can hear her through the telephone, scream...Rachael?....Rachael Landeau I'll be right over.
