13 Duane St

I just had a random recollection of a very specific memory from my childhood, and I feel compelled to talk about it.  I rather enjoy it when this sort of thing happens, because it always feels out of the ordinary yet strangely important.  I take a certain pleasure out of looking back and seeing how far I've come, both physically and mentally, whenever I have one of these recollections.  However, I must admit, even though this memory is one that I have from my childhood, the person who takes center stage in it isn't myself, but my mom.

The memory takes place during one of the darkest times of my life.  My whole family was in turmoil - my parents were recently divorced, and both began scrambling for new homes to stay in.  Neither one of my parents were very financially stable during this time period, and so they had to resort to moving a lot.  I don't remember exactly how many times my brother and I had to move as our parents searched for new places to live, but I would estimate that during this time period we changed neighborhoods at least 5 times.

Now when I say these were dark times, I really mean it.  It wasn't because we were moving so frequently; it was because we were moving into some really scummy, unsafe neighborhoods.  I was pretty naive back then, and I couldn't really understand why my mom didn't want my brother and I to play outside in these neighborhoods.  Whenever either my brother or myself wanted to have a sleepover with friends, they never came to our house, we always had to go stay at their houses instead.  Whenever I try and remember back to these times, there is no sunshine, no smiles - only a lurid gloom, portrayed through unforgiving clouds and prodigious amounts of rain.

The memory itself takes place in the first of these dreary locations, 13 Duane St.  I remember being very solemn during the whole moving process.  I can't speak for my brother, but I think he probably knew considering how often our parents would fight, that we weren't going to be under happy circumstances for quite some time.  Everything back then just seemed so uncertain to me.  We had moved from a gorgeous home to a miserable excuse for an apartment, and I couldn't see how things could ever be as good as they once were.

During this whole process, my mom tried not to show how dire of a situation we were in.  She wanted my brother and I to be oblivious, because as long as there was hope, there could be happiness.  That first night at 13 Duane St, she rented Men In Black (a movie that we wanted to see, but due to the divorce that summer, were never able to) and bought us some IBC root beer to enjoy as we nestled into a corner of our dark bedroom, no lights or furniture, just the three of us with a blanket.  Strangely enough, we were happy that night.  I remember thinking that maybe things weren't going to be so bad.  That maybe there was in fact, hope for our family.

I'll never know how close we were to losing it all.  All I know is that I can't thank my mom enough for protecting my brother and me.  We were better off as the oblivious kids that we were.  If we had known exactly how bad things were, we may have given up, and if that happened, we probably wouldn't be the same people we are today.