07/14/2026
The basement with the stairs blocked off by a brown baby gate
Stairs that have a wall until halfway down
And past that point,
You fling your body down off the side.
Jumping as far as you can,
Trying not to run into the table near the stairs
Adults telling you to stop
But every visit requires the routine of jumping off the side of the stairs
Couches line the living area
To the left a machine that inverts you surrounded by hundreds of records just waiting to be put into the record player
When your there, the only record that gets put on is Swan Lake
Laying on the rough carpet you dance to the songs,
You stare at the ceiling as your dad and his dad talk about things that get phased out by the Sugar Plum Fairy
A fire place no one remembers but, you remember being told not to touch it
Not to mess with it
Never seeing it turn on
Nor working besides being part of the wall
The amount of sound machines that cover the wall or floor or table like things are so many
Wanting to understand them more
But at this age it goes over your head
All you know is that Swan Lake plays here
That you play here
That you spin on the carpet with bare feet and hands out as the music covers you like a hug
The carpet doesnt feel as scratchy when the music plays
Sometimes you pull carpet fibers out but never enough for someone to notice
Here is where the music plays
Always loud but a comforting loud
The voices of family talking comforts you as you listen and pay no mind
They are part of the music
Part of the experience
The experience of being here
Of existing in each little space as if its its own world inside one building
It all feels like portals to different places
Places you wont get to go back to
Places that arent here in the same ways
The house still stands but all of the stuff is long gone,
Moved to new states, sold to declutter,
Rearranged into new places that still feel safe but overly different
The puzzle is still there but it looks vastly different
And now, the puzzle is missing you,
Youre supposed to be there
Youre part of it
But, the pieces exist without you but are ever touched by you
