The little yellow house on Fourth Street. I haven't thought about that house is a long time. My formative years were spent in that house. We moved in when I was 13. I moved out for good when Adrian and I moved to Georgia when I was 21. Minus time in College Station, of course.
I heard from an old friend this week. The friend still lives in Katy, and said the house is largely unchanged. It is a different color now. My mom let me pick that color. It was greyish white when we moved in. I thought the yellow would look cool with the red orange bricks. It made it fairly easy to tell people how to get to my casa. "Turn left at the Texaco, right on Fourth Street, third house on the left. Bright yellow. Can't miss it."
It is a three bedroom house, but it is by no means a large house. There is a fairly open living room, right when you walk in the front door. Behind that is the kitchen, and off to the right of the living room, and in front of the kitchen was the garage. My older sister made the garage her bedroom for a few months. I can't remember why, but I remember her Duran Duran posters out there. I was madly in love with Simon. I think I might have even kissed her poster a time or two. Then, she joined the army.
To the left of the living room, is a skinny hallway. So skinny that when I had appendicitis, and was unconscious on my mom's floor, the EMT had to come carry me to the ambulance, because the stretcher wouldn't fit down the hall. First room on the right was at one point my room. Then it was Tiffany's room. Then, Tiffany moved in with Nanny. Directly across the hall from Tiff's room were the bathrooms. One half bath, and separated by a sliding door that didn't lock, was the tub and another toilet. The master bedroom is the last door on the left. Last door on the right, my room.
My room. My room with the canopy beds and the frilly dust ruffles. My room, with the pictures of my favorite celebrities on the wall. My room with the tv in it, even though we were poor. My room where I did LSD for the first time. My room where I felt safe. My sanctuary. My escape. No lock on the door, so when I was up to no good, I'd try to lean against the door, so no one could enter. It was always the one place I could sort myself out. Such a Beach Boys song. "There's a world where I can go to tell my secrets to..." In the corner, is the stereo where I discovered so much music. A desk, where instead of doing homework, I set up a lighted mirror and did my makeup. I did my homework sitting on my bed, obvs.
I get such a sense of nostalgia for it now. But back in the day, I would spend more time at Joy's house than mine. Or Sonja's. Or anyone's house I could go to, really. Then my mom worked nights. Sonja and I would hang out all night, getting up to no goddamned good, at my house. Messing up everything. But somehow getting it fixed before she came home. Or she always saw the mess, and decided to not call us out on it.
That little yellow house. I didn't love it then. Having been gone for a dozen years, I miss it terribly now.