axel

::twenty five::

Point of View: noah

[Fear and panic in the air

I want to be free

From desolation and despair

And I feel like everything I saw

Is being swept away

Well I refuse to let you go] {Map of the Problematique; Muse} 

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Dear Old House,

I remember you well.

You were the house I grew up in, after all. I mean, I grew up in a lot of houses, but you were the house I lived in the longest. The one I have the most memories in.

You sit right across the road from the cemetery, and sometimes I just go and stand in front of you, wishing I still lived with you.

I remember so many things about you. The special smell of jasmine you had, the way the doors on the thirt floor creaked a little bit. The swing outside in the big oak tree. 

I remember all the Thanksgivings I had in you. I remember sitting around the table with mom and dad and Josiah, and telling each other all the things we were grateful for, and I remember how happy I was in those moments.

Thank you for all those memories. Those are the good ones. The ones where we are all happy and laughing and everything was right in the world.

Those memories are the ones I hold on to when the rest of the world is blowing up around me. 

I may not ba having Thanksgiving with you this year. some other family is.

But I remember you the way I know you remember me.

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I bring in all the groceries and set them on the floor of the kitchen, trying to figure out what to do with them all. We got a lot of stuff.

I invited North and all his siblings, and his parents if they feel like coming, over tomorrow. 

That'a a lot of people, and as a result, a lot of food.

I'm going to have my hands full tomorrow morning. 

I shove the cold stuff into the fridge and put the other things in the cabinet, barely able to even shut the doors. I hear the kids running around upstairs, and I can see Josiah in the other room, eating a sandwich.

He's going to rehab as soon as we can scrape up enough money for it. 

Amy told him that if he contines to do herion in the house that he's going to have to go live elsewhere. I know he still does it, I mean he's addicted to it. He's also not going through withdrawals, which he would be if he had quit.

But he seems a little bit better. I don't think he's doing it as often now that we're speaking again. And hopefully rehab will fix him for good. We just have to get enough money for that, somehow.

I slam the cabinet door on accident, making Josiah look in the kitchen.

"Did you get stuff to make pumpkin pie?" He asks, setting down his sandwich.

I give him a look that says, "Duh," and he throws me a thumbs up.

"Just checking."

Josiah and I are a bit better, I suppose. We're talking now, so that's something. There are moments when I still feel the deep rooted hurt and anger, but for the most part we're alright. At some point I had to realize that I didn't want to spend the rest of my life being angry with the only person I had left.