This is the first fall where I haven't been living in some sort of shambled state.
(i.e. no heat, no electricity, no furniture, no car, no phone, no money; usually more than 2 at once)
When J.R. and I lived on Arrow Ave, it was an adventure within four walls of a dank, dark, and dirty house located in the middle of the hood, a.k.a. the west side, of Anderson.
Staying up late covered with blankets.
Hands tightly wrapped gloves around beer cans.
Books read by the flickering light of a candle, which we found out was a lot more difficult than movies of older times portrayed.
Depression was accepted.
Dreams were discussed.
Honesty was never blemished.
We were consumed by this beast within a couple months.
Things went spiraling out of control.
We lost what we were looking for.
We lost our minds.
We fought.
I wouldn't trade that time in that house for anything, though.
We healed, bandaged the boo-boo's, and wrapped worthy wounds under used gauze.
That's a metaphor,
but, it really happened.
1910 Arrow Ave was a time more than a place, where I learned the importance of honesty and enduring friendship.
Don't know what that story says.
I've found out stories are more powerful than lessons of my opinion.
s
ha
lom.
