Nov 27
Maisie N's picture

The House on Eleventh

I help my mom mop away the memories, driving out the all-too-familiar smell of incense and filling the basement with the smell of lemon floor cleaner. I look at my mom, running her mop across the dirty tiles on the other side of the room. I watch her tears fall, swirling with the soap suds. I turn my face away because I’m also about to start crying. I feel myself suffocating in the empty lemon-scented room. I walk out into the room Grandma Candy and Grandpa Mike used to share. It too, is empty and it wreaks of carpet cleaner. I go upstairs and suddenly I’m hit by a torrent of memories so hard that I want to drop to my knees, but if I just picture the house like it used to be, and if I try hard enough, I can still smell the incense and hear the wind chimes jingling outside.