Memoir

Somewhere New

                I remember my parents saying that we needed to have a talk after supper. I racked my brain and thought of instances at school that could be possible subjects. I dismissed those thoughts, I hated the thought of getting in trouble. After my mind had calmed down they explained that we were going to try and sell our house and move to Altona, because it would be easier on us as a family. I guess my sister had already been told the news, because she was absent. I shouldn’t have been surprised though, since I was always the last to be told anything. I don’t exactly know why, but I cried. Something in my ignorant young mind had always told me that we would live in that house forever, as one small happy family. That part of my silly childhood imagination was now face to face with reality. I must have had an intense value of that house in my heart, looking back now, I realize I still do.

                We moved away in fall. We had not found a house to buy so we were getting one built instead. In the meantime we rented an old place. The rental house was good and bad. The good part was the secluded upstairs loft where I played video games, the bad part was the awful smell. If you don’t know what mothballs smell like, you’re lucky. It’s nasty. The house reeked of them. Sometimes I wonder if the smell rubbed off on me and my clothes. Maybe for that period in my life I was that one kid at school that always stank in the most peculiar way. Did I become an unhygienic freak? I’ll never know.

                My parents despised the smell more than me and my sister and wanted it gone more than anybody. They thought that making a couple home cooked meals would defeat the smell, but they were wrong. In later weeks my Dad walked around the house in search of mothballs. His indoor and outdoor search ended in a whole ice cream pail full, but still the scent haunted us.

                It was the spring of the next year when we finally moved into our newly built home. I didn’t enjoy the process of moving, but arriving was good. My first memory of that house is that we were all so excited to be there. Even though it was littered with moving boxes and nothing else, it felt right. We ordered a pizza that night since my Mom didn’t want to cook. The one thing I’ll never forget was during our first Christmas there. We were together and my Dad asked,

 “So, does it finally feel like home?”

                I didn’t really understand what he meant.

                “It felt like home the minute we walked in,” I replied

He laughed happily and was glad about my remark. He replied by saying,

                “Well, good thing it doesn’t smell like mothballs right?”