Dear 9 Fenton Street,
I know this letter might come as a shock to you because we haven’t seen each other in many years. You probably weren’t expecting to hear from me and honestly, I didn’t anticipate writing this myself, but here I am.
I want you to know that I haven’t forgotten about you. I could never forget about you.
Your every detail will be ingrained in my mind forever. The first thing I always remember when I think of you is your bright green door. My mom picked quite an unusual color for your front door, but you had no problem with it and embraced the vibrant green as a new part of yourself. Now I can’t imagine you without picturing that dazzling front door.
Your door was, however, only one of your many lovable quirks. You had no real lawn but rather a sprawling garden…and pebbles. The pebbles always confused me, but over time I grew to accept them because they were a part of you.
You had a door in your basement that no one knew how to open. For some reason the lock on that door was different from all your others, and we didn’t have the right key. I always referred to that door as the “mystery door.” You never told us how to open it because I think you knew the excitement of the “mystery door” would vanish if we actually had the ability to unlock it.
Your foyer was the only room that wasn’t heated and as a result, the room we spent the least amount of time in. Ironically though, this room was your most beautiful because of its golden, bird-covered wallpaper. You didn’t hold our lack of visits to your foyer against us though; you understood how cold it was.
Your kitchen ceiling had a royal blue rubber snake hanging from it because my brother threw it at the ceiling when he was younger and it got stuck. Nobody ever bothered to take the snake down and it became an essential part of the decor in your kitchen.
You were unusual, to say the least. However, you and your unconventional characteristics are an irreplaceable part of the first 17 years of my life. When I was born, I came home to you. I celebrated my first birthday with you watching me blow out my one candle. I took my first steps with you literally supporting the ground beneath me. I decorated my first Christmas tree with you holding the tree up. When I turned ten, I hosted my first and only slumber party in your basement. I baked a batch of my family’s famous pumpkin bread by myself for the first time in your oven. I developed my irrational fear of squirrels in your driveway. My parents took pictures of me on the first day of school in front of your gleaming green door for 17 years.
You watched me cry, laugh, and embarrassingly dance when no one was home. You knew almost everything about me.
I know you might feel betrayed because I live somewhere else now. Maybe you’ve even convinced yourself that I have a new “you.” I hope you haven’t, but I can understand if you have. I know deep down you miss me, partly because I know you so well and partly because I can recognize in myself how much I miss you. You were an essential part of my childhood. To me, you’ll always be the quirky little house I grew up in–always more special than any other home I’ll have. Keep sporting that bright green door, no one can pull it off like you can.
Xoxo,
Bea