Pat had no idea what to expect as she neared her old neighborhood. This was her first visit back in so many years. The years had flown by. Married, divorced, buried both parents and a baby; this journey to her childhood home was a difficult one, yet she felt compelled to see it one more time.
Each street she turned down brought an avalanche of memories; some good, some not so good. She could hear kids yelling and screaming as they skated down the sidewalks or played in makeshift cardboard box forts…so long ago. Sitting on front porches, hanging out on the steps with the gang drinking Cokes and singing the latest tunes, dreaming of going to the beach after graduation some day; the memories started spilling out of the boxes where Pat had stored them.
On that corner, under that street light, her first boyfriend had kissed her. Such a bittersweet memory; he had been killed in the war. Over there – why, that used to be a corner market where Pat always went to get candy. Now it’s a McDonald’s. Things change. People change. Life goes on.
Arriving at her old street, Pat was surprised to see that many of the houses were gone; torn down and replaced with huge structures that didn’t fit in with the neighborhood architecture. These behemoths sat on tiny plots of land and made the houses around them look sad and neglected. What a shame.
Pat’s house was still there in its original form; the carport was intact. She could see the metal fence surrounding the back yard; the same back yard where she had played with her collie, Prince. As she drove by, Pat noticed the old redwood deck that Dad had built all by himself. The house looked so tiny – that’s not how Pat remembered it. As a youngster, that house had been huge with the terrifying gravity furnace in the basement. Pat never went to the basement.
She drove on. No sense stopping. She envisioned walking up to the front door, knocking and telling the owners she had once lived there as a youngster. Would they let her come in and look around? The odds were slim the current owners would allow it; too much crime these days. You can never be too careful. Just look at all the alarm signs at various houses. When Pat lived here, the front door was always unlocked. “How times have changed,” she thought to herself.
At the corner was the two story brick home that belonged to Mrs. Juvinetti. Ah…Mrs. Juvinetti. All the kids loved her. Children would show up at her door and find that Mrs. J had just baked chocolate chip cookies; everyone was invited in and there was always enough cookies and milk to go around. Pat spent many hours at the Juvinetti household and had even roomed in college with Cindy Juvinetti until the night of the murder. Pat hadn’t thought of Cindy in a very long time.
She pulled the car to the curb. The memories were overwhelming her. Pat got out of the car and walked up to the Juvinetti house. The grass needed mowing; the bushes were overgrown and the paint on the shutters was peeling. “I wonder…” she thought to herself.
Arriving at the front door, Pat rang the doorbell and stood back from the door. In a few moments, the door opened and there stood an old, stooped white-haired woman dressed in a flowery housecoat. Though the years had taken their toll, there was no mistaking Mrs. Juvinetti. She was still alive and Pat was so excited to see her again.
“Mrs. Juvinetti!” “Mrs. Juvinetti!” “It’s me, Patty Connor from up the street. The old lady looked at Pat and slowly started to smile. Then she opened her arms and in a soft voice said, “My little Pattycake!” “Come in, come in!”
Pat walked into the house and immediately smelled the mustiness of years of dust and clutter. Mrs. Juvinetti had always taken such pride in her home. Now it was decaying, like Mrs. J. Pat was saddened to see the conditions in the house.
Mrs. Juvinetti led Pat to the living room and Pat sat on the same sofa that had been in that room during her childhood years. It was a very large piece of furniture, with a bright floral pattern now stained and worn with years of use. Mrs. Juvinetti gently lowered herself into an armchair – the kind that had hand-crocheted antimacassars on the arms and the back of the chair – Mrs J had lovingly made those so many years ago they were yellowing.
Pat felt bad she hadn’t kept in touch with the Juvinetti family after Cindy had been so tragically killed. It was simply too painful. And then the years got away from her.
But she was here now and wanted to take advantage of the time as Pat knew this would be her last trip home. Her life was elsewhere now. She would stay a few minutes; have a cookie and reminisce then be on her way.
“Mrs. Juvinetti, you look wonderful,” Pat commented.
“Oh my dear girl, I’m an old woman now just waiting to die. There are so few children in the neighborhood these days. Not many come to visit me anymore. I still bake my cookies, but now once a week a nice lady picks me up and we take the cookies to the hospital and share them with the children’s wing. You know how much you loved my cookies when you were little! Why don’t I make us some tea, dear, and while I put the kettle on maybe you would go out to the garage and get some cookies out of the freezer for me. They will only take a few minutes to thaw out and then we can sit and chat to our hearts content.”
“That sounds lovely, Mrs. J – I’ll run to the freezer and be right back.”
Mrs. Juvinetti slowly got up from her chair and shuffled out to the kitchen. Pat stood up and stayed in the living room for a moment just taking it all in. She turned and went through the side porch to the breezeway which led to the garage. Opening the garage door, Pat saw the tall freezer at the end of the room and walked over to it. Pat smiled at the thought of those wonderful chocolate chip cookies.
She opened the freezer door and reached inside for a package of cookies. But there were no cookies in the freezer. There were no shelves in the freezer either. All that was in the freezer was the bent and long-frozen body of Mr. Juvinetti.
Perhaps it’s true…you can’t go home again.
Parchment Monkey 