The House on Oak Street

A little house in Texarkana, 806 Oak Street to be exact, has to be the most important place on earth to me. Although it's torn down now due to abandonment, it's vivid. It will never escape my memory. My grandmother raised my older sister and me in that house for seven years until I was moved to Georgia around my seventh birthday since my mother nor father were around.

I remember separating peas from pods with my grandmother. I remember my kiddie keyboard that I used to play songs and me expecting to receive a standing ovation from her. I remember the traditional ghost stories she used to tell my sister and me about our home. I remember that couch my grandmother would sit on to watch the news while pigs' feet cooked in the crock pot.

I remember the blue chair grandma sat on during her cancer years. I remember my mother coming into my life when I was six, which was the best time considering my grandmother's condition was getting worse. I remember the little stand in the den that had a telephone and a phone book on it that I used to act like a receptor. Really, I only had one person to call, and that was my grandma in the hospital. I remember my mom leaving one day in a red car and getting a phone call from us letting her know that our grandmother had gone unconscious and that we needed her.

I love and remember my grandmother and our house on Oak Street.

(Anonymous)