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| Inside my home |
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| Behind closed door |
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| Outside the home |
Home is where the heart resides. Most Americans believe in this saying but the place I call home is like a county jail. http://chuckmanchicagonostalgia.files.wordpress.com/2009/10/postcard-chicago-cook-county-jail-nice-1902.jpg?w=390&h=250. Strict orders, Confinement, and Constant fights. Inside 6814, the saying “Behind Closed Doors” comes to light with each room having its own memories. As I treaded on to my secluded room images of the severe beating we endowed overflowed my memory like a waterfall, with no way of getting rid of them. In the lower level of my home a.k.a. my room, only consists of a twin bed with red railings that are scratched up from having for so many years and a closet full of clothes. The back door also lies in my room but the beautiful thing about it, is the outside forest that expands from my house to every other one on the street. There’s nothing like not having to pay to go to the zoo, when all you have to do is walk outside and see nature animals. http://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://www.archdaily.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/07/1280437805-entry-528x396.jpg&imgrefurl=http://www.archdaily.com/category/houses/page/9/&usg=__tjeA8K5fRd_Uf4hISARwU64WKzQ=&h=396&w=528&sz=71&hl=en&start=0&zoom=1&tbnid=NgHOIc4FPWUKQM:&tbnh=130&tbnw=180&prev=/images%3Fq%3Doutside%2Bforest%2Bexpand%2Bto%2Bmy%2Bhouse%26um%3D1%26hl%3Den%26biw%3D1280%26bih%3D548%26tbs%3Disch:1&um=1&itbs=1&iact=rc&dur=919&ei=gsTRTKPsE4us8AaGoeDADA&oei=gsTRTKPsE4us8AaGoeDADA&esq=1&page=1&ndsp=20&ved=1t:429,r:0,s:0&tx=125&ty=87.
My home is deserted. If anyone visited my home, they would think my family and I had just moved in because of all the missing necessities any normal house should possess. http://www.library.ucsb.edu/speccoll/digital/Kiewit/images/Bodie/Bodie_030.jpg. A living room with no furniture, just three pictures on a half clean white wall vertically lined up right after the other and An entertainment center but no television in the hole, just dust and spider webs slowly escalating the corners. Once upon a time we had these items but one by one they slowly left us for the pawn shop Sols, never to be seen again.
The neighborhood is hushed. On Ida Street live only mature and respectful adults who work favorable paying jobs. I’m certain of this because everyone except us owns their home. The constant squeaks of opening and closing garage doors at five in the morning, assure me that they are headed off to work. The neighborhood is like a homeless shelter because there’s all ways someone in need of something but everyone lightheartedly contributes if they can. We have tons of neighborhood watch signs plastered on every light pole and no liter. Don’t let all this gratifying knowledge mislead you to think it’s always been like this because it hasn’t.
When I first moved to this district it was a multitude of youthful adults with numerous children who spent much of their time vandalizing the neighborhood and causing lots of ruckus. Those nights were filled with vociferate voices and red and blue lights flicking on and off. The motive of these troubles was because they were renters instead of owners and didn’t have a concern. It happened so much that I began to get used to it.
My next door neighbor lived in a blue three story house with a front and back patio, with chipping paint and no garage. She was a registered nurse and had a son named James who was about six foot one with an afro and always reeked of weed. I knew him because we attended Benson Magnet High School together. She was a very welcoming and generous person. I liked her up until the argument she had with my mother over grass and then I began to gradually not care for her. She was one who always had a new guy “friend” over for a couple of weeks and then he too would disappear. I was the one who would sit back and observe things and watch how it played out. James would secretly have parties when his mother had to work late shifts, nights I hated.
Across the street from me lives a church family who has two sons and a daughter named Maya, who on a daily basis plays with my brother. And parents don’t take care the kid. For the most part, they keep to themselves and do house work around their home. I see the boys the most with one being tall and skinny and the other short and round. No matter if its hundred degrees outside, the boys will be out mowing the yard occasionally straining for air with soaked t shirts. Every once and a while, I catch them eyeing me, but I’ve never had the pleasure of getting their names. On the will of my brother, it’ll be very soon.
The person who lived in the White house down the street on the corner will be one I’ll never forget. His name was Dennis Radigan, but everyone called him Denny for short. He was a Caucasian kid about the same age as me, blond hair, and with eyes as blue as the ocean. He stood about five foot nine and had a medium size weight. I had the biggest crush on him ever since I moved to that street. I’ll admit, he had my heart and the love I had for him was infinite. No matter how bad I wanted him, I couldn’t have him. He hung with the wrong crowd and got caught up in a lot of trouble. A house, Deny broken into the house two down from mine that breaks in caused that family to move. He departed for a year to DCYC (Douglas County Youth Center) and was later released back home to his mother, who didn’t worry about anything he did. He obtained his GED and started classes at Metropolitan Community College and turned his life around. It seems that we weren’t meant to be because he began to like me, but my mother forbids me to be with him due to his skin color. I would never date someone without my mother’s approval and she knew it, so it hurt that much more that she was using it against me. His family soon after moved away, which seems to me a new planet. We keep in touch by the power of text messaging, always bringing back those unforgettable feelings I had for him.
I have many more neighbors but I don’t know anything about them except their old and appears like a ghost once every blue moon. Since everyone has moved on to their new lives, my street has become like December. No one comes out unless they absolutely have too.
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| Down the street |
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| Neighborhood in the church |
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| Neighborhood kid |
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| Omaha neighbrhood |
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| Neighborhood home |
