I could tell you of a house that stood alone, and creaked with memories that longed for peace, and a child who saw only the moon…

There was an old record player at my grandmothers house in the ‘best’ room. It was a room that stayed locked for the most part.

(I was allowed in there once, and only once. I can’t even remember why.)

The record player had a coffee stain on it. Everything else was clean and well placed. The coffee stain is what I remember most.

It was as if it had always been there…

I remember the ‘best room’. Only for the coffee stained record player, and the draft that hit my ankles in the passageway to the door.

The passageway held a memory I wasn’t ever to know.

I wanted to know the story of that coffee stain and imagined elaborate and often melancholic reasons for its seemingly eternal presence.

It was a house and so much more. It was where the moon shone the brightest…

 

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2 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. Paul McGovern
    Jul 20, 2012 @ 17:59:41

    Evocative, nostalgic and serene. A magical retelling of something etched in memory.

    Reply

  2. Evelyn
    Aug 04, 2012 @ 02:45:15

    so talented. the draft part actually gave me shivers…

    Reply

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