Yours For The Weekend

1

As I sit behind the wheel of my car, I take in the wintry landscape that surrounds me. Despite the fact that I have a clear view from inside my vehicle, I lower the window, eager to immerse myself in the frigid atmosphere. The snow-covered roads have already been cleared, thanks to the diligent efforts of the plow trucks that have been working since early morning. The crisp air seeps into the car, invigorating my senses as I take a deep breath.

The world outside is blanketed in a layer of pristine snow, as far as the eye can see. The lack of other vehicles on the road is a welcome sight, as it allows me to take in the serene beauty of my hometown without any distractions. The only sounds are the soft crunch of the snow under my tires and the occasional gust of wind.

I have been away from home for far too long, working tirelessly on my art and focusing on my career. However, my mother's persistent messages finally persuaded me to return for the holidays. Despite my busy schedule, I felt a strong pull to visit my hometown, to reconnect with my roots and spend time with my loved ones.

As I continue my journey down the road, I reflect on how much has changed since I left. The once familiar landmarks now seem unfamiliar and distant. But despite the passage of time, the memories and emotions associated with this place remain etched in my mind, reminding me of the strong connection I have with my hometown.

As I approach the outskirts of my neighborhood, I instinctively slow down my car, taking in the surroundings with a sense of nostalgia. My thumb absentmindedly taps on the steering wheel as I gaze out the window, noting the subtle differences from my memories. The small park on my left appears unchanged, yet its emptiness feels eerie, a stark contrast to the lively gatherings I used to attend there. The pizza place on the right, once a staple of my youth, now looks unfamiliar, its windows dark and shuttered.

I can't shake the feeling that I'm searching for something, but I'm not sure what. Perhaps it's a piece of my past, a connection to the memories of my childhood.

As I turn onto the street where I grew up, a smile breaks across my face. The homes are decked out in their annual display of holiday cheer, with twinkling Christmas lights and festive decorations adorning each yard. It's a familiar sight, one that never fails to evoke a sense of warmth and comfort in my heart. Our neighborhood always goes all out for the holidays, making it the most anticipated time of the year, aside from New Year's.

The coziness of the street envelops me as I drive down the familiar road. I can almost hear the sounds of laughter and merriment filtering through the windows, reminding me of the joyous gatherings of my youth.

I navigate a few more twists and turns before finally pulling to a stop in front of the familiar façade of my childhood home. Taking care to park my car along the side, I turn off the engine and release my seatbelt. Reaching into the back seat, I retrieve my bag, taking a moment to gather my belongings. I then retrieve my lip balm from the sun visor, feeling the dryness of my lips from the cold winter air.

Stepping out of the car, I make my way through the snow-covered front yard, my feet sinking into the drifts with each step. As I look around the neighborhood, my gaze is drawn to a house a few blocks away. It stands out like a sore thumb, its lack of holiday decorations and lights in stark contrast to the festively lit homes surrounding it. The windows are dark, the lights inside turned off, giving the house an abandoned, desolate feel.

This house, so different from the others, holds a strange fascination for me. Its emptiness and lack of celebration is at odds with the warmth and joy that pervades the rest of the neighborhood during this special time of year. It's as if time has stopped for this one house, while the rest of the world moves forward, embracing the holiday season.