Revisiting

[Regel]

Revisiting

It has been quite a number of years since London was my home. A university town and center of commerce nestled in on the forks of the Thames River. It's know as the Forest City because of the number of mature Maples that lined the streets. Shame is that many of those trees have been removed as the city kept expanding.

I was in the east end of my old hometown. The urge to drive past and visit my dad’s grave was strong but I decided against it. Besides I carried him in my thoughts anyway. Instead I swung down Quebec Street and soon found myself in familiar haunts.

The kid that used to walk these streets in fear had grown up and moved away but some of this area still lingers in the dark corners of my mind. Survived is the only way to describe this part of my life because I never really felt connected to this part of London even though I called it home for many years. The CNR tracks where we used to hunt garder snakes in the tall grass, the Western Fairgrounds with it's winos living in and around the race track, the smells that eminated from the Kellogg’s and Dare Cookie factories (which always made you hungry) and of course the Pepsi Cola plant were we watched the line on hot summer days, these were the landmarks of the east end. Some remain and some are gone. It was the blue collar side of town and yet there were still some beautiful older homes in this neighborhood as well. Unfortunately they seemed to reflect the home owners themselves, older, tired and a bit run down.

As I drove slowly through my old haunts the colours seemed to have drained away. Not just sun faded but somehow smaller than I remember. The old house was still there at 969 Princess Ave, as was the shack we called a garage. It was there where my dad had presented me with my very first bike. It was a blue CCM Raleigh that had cost him close to two weeks salary. I see the new owners have small children, their bikes and toys are scattered in the backyard. I hope that old lady still doesn’t haunt the upstairs apartment anymore. She scared the wits out of me as a child, even if she was harmless. The drunks have been replaced and the dregs of society have moved into this part of London with all manner of addictions. Dangerous it was to raise a family here and dangerous it remains. Where my old public school stood is now a community centre and the asphalt playground was mostly removed. Eighty percent of the fights I got into or witnessed occurred right there at the corner of Charlotte and Princess. Playground equipment that will soon been replaced because it was deemed unsafe still stands leaching its chemical preservatives into the sand and gravel. The saying is you can’t go home again. As I drove away I thought to myself "why would anybody want to?"

[Wyvern]

I really liked this vignette, Regel, and actually ended up using a segment of it as a starting point for the last Mighty Pen Madlib out of my admiration for it. What struck me the most about this piece was your uses of numerous original and significant details in describing the narrator's old hometown, which really made for an excellent and vivid read. One of my favorite moments of the piece was when you described:

 

"The CNR tracks where we used to hunt garder snakes in the tall grass, the Western Fairgrounds with it's winos living in and around the race track, the smells that eminated from the Kellogg’s and Dare Cookie factories (which always made you hungry) and of course the Pepsi Cola plant were we watched the line on hot summer days..."

 

That sentence really struck me with it's vivid descriptions and drew me in with it's original details.

 

One small thing I noticed that you might be able to improve: while the piece is mostly narrated in the past tense, there are one or two moments in the last paragraph where the tense changes from past to present to past again. You might want to check the tenses in that paragraph...

 

 

Overall, great stuff!

[Regel]

My own apologies for taking so long to reply. It seems that a haunting is still going on inside my own head. The formative years of my life from ages 3-11 were spent there in the east end. I thank you for the kind words Wyvern and I am very flattered that you chose a segment of this and used it to transform the piece into many similiar but delightfully different pieces. The comment is noted and narrative story telling is certainly challenging. The tenses change as the mind wanders back and forth from past to present and sometimes ( almost always) my mind gets lost.

 

The fragment of a longer story is seeded in the middle almost as an afterthought.

Consider this an insert.

The Old Woman

The house was full of christmas visitors. People in every corner of my parents two story home. The upstairs had been converted into a seperate one bedroom apartment. It was explained and understood that the apartment was out of bound when leased but when it was empty the space was mine to play and run around in. That night with a house full of people and close to midnight I decided to go up to the top of the stairs and slide down the risers. (Please, I was six.) It seemed an extremely amusing activity to me at the time. I raced to the top of the first flight and stopped at the landing. The only light on was the one 60 watt bulb directly above me with the rest of the apartment dark, as it should be. Suddenly out of the darkened bathroom the door creaks open. I turned and saw the figure of an elderly lady in a flannel nightgown. I was so frightened. I did't realize the apartment was occupied. I realized the she would be coming downstairs to complain to my parents about the intrusion and there would be hell to pay. She walked out looking at me not speaking. I wanted desperately to bolt but my feet were too heavy to move. She inched closer, her hair and skin as pale as the moon. The old lady looked sick and was easily in her eighties. She moved like she was in pain slowly she kept creeping forward she raised an arm her hand reaching for me or so it seemed. That was when my feet finally took flight. I believe I took stairs two and three at a time rounded the corner at the bottom and went to the most populated part of the house the living room in all of 3 seconds flat. Then sitting there on the couch I waited for the fall out but nothing happened no knock and no phone call. My mind was still racing as was my heart beat. I thought to myself She was an old lady why was I so scared? Maybe she didn't see me. Maybe she was simply reaching for the wall to guild her way. Who was I kidding? You had looked right at me. I decided to say and do nothing to suggest I was up there. Alot of my cousins were in the house I could deny it was me. As I did damage control in my mind the adrenaline had begun to fade and in its wake sleep overtook me. The next day had come and gone with no complaint. I never thought to ask if the apartment had been rented. So for weeks I had stayed out of there. Later that same year the summer we moved in fact I asked my mother who the old lady was the we had rented the apartment to last christmas. "What old lady?" my mother asked. The apartment have been vacant for the past six months. "I saw her coming out of the bathroom the night of the CHristmas party" I explained The description I gave made me mother lose all the colour in her face. "Dio mio!" she exclaimed "That was the previous owners mother you just described. She had past away the christmas before we had moved in that bedroom upstairs." fin

[Sorciere]

Every time I read your tales, you make me smile. Even when you are describing hurtful things, the way you capture the emotion awes me.

 

Your writings remind me vividly of those of Stepehn King. Maybe it is because the era you describe I also associate with his works, but I think it also has a lot to do with the ease in which I am drawn into your world. Not once have I had to reread a sentence to understand it's meaning or grasp where you are coming from. I could read your stories for hours and still not be bored. Great work Regel