Kristan Hoffman

writing dreams into reality

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Scenes from my aunt’s house

One tree in the front yard, or two? Wood siding, or brick? Have I ever even set foot in the backyard?

These questions roll through my mind during the drive to Dallas. It’s been over 10 years since I last visited my aunt’s house, but 4 short hours later, here we are. The front walk is like memory lane, leading me to answers I didn’t realize I had forgotten.

I’m 7 years old, sitting at the dining table, legs tucked underneath me. I hold out one finger, my body tensed in fear of being bitten. Inside a brass cage, yellow and blue feathers rustle, punctuated by twin chirps. My aunt opens a little door and slips her hand in. Next thing I know, tiny claws are dancing across my pointer finger. I relax and smile.

I’m 9 years old, playing Hearts on my laptop. My cousin, older and wiser, leans over and shoulders me out of the way. “Have you heard of an mp3?” he asks. As I shake my head, he is already typing and clicking and downloading a few things from his server at MIT. “It’s the future of music,” he assures me. Soon we are listening to some song called “Sweetest Thing” by some band called U2 on some program called Winamp. Impressed, I nod to the beat and try to sing along with the chorus.

I’m 10 years old, knocking tentatively on my cousin’s bedroom door. He doesn’t say to come in, but he doesn’t say to go away either. I close the door softly behind me. He’s sitting on the bed, face red with anger, eyes wet with tears. I sit down on the floor in front of him, but he just keeps staring hard at the opposite wall.

After several minutes of silence, I ask if he wants to play Connect Four. He still doesn’t say anything, but he scoots off the bed and slides the board game out. We’re dropping our red and black checkers into place when his father comes in to apologize. But he never actually says he’s sorry. He just holds his arms out and waits. They hug silently, my cousin’s small body stiff, my uncle’s hand heavy on his back.

I’m 12 years old, up late for no real reason. While the rest of the house sleeps peacefully, my typing fills the darkness. A childhood friend is teasing me over chat, but I feel something else coming. Something exciting and frightening.

Oh god, there it is. But what do I do now? What do I do with those three little words? I want them — of course I want them — but not from him, not right now.

Joy, regret, and panic churn inside me. With tears in my eyes, I type, “I’m sorry.” I hit send. I sign off.

I don’t sleep that night.

I’m 26 years old, sharing a mattress with my mother. In the morning we wake to soft light filtering in through the windows. Still half-asleep, we stay in bed, lying on our backs and talking. Catching up, sharing stories.

Memories layer one on top of the other, new on top of old, hers on top of mine. It’s been over 10 years since I last visited my aunt’s house, but pieces of me linger, hanging on the walls next to the photographs. I collect them now, questions and answers no longer forgotten.

One tree. Brick. Still not sure.

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8 Comments

  1. Wonderful, wonderful vignettes, Kristan! I love the one about the bird dancing on your finger, and Connect Four (I loved that as a kid) and the chat session – so endearing. And I laughed that you were 9 when you heard of MP3s. When I was 9 I saw my first computer. Almost no one I knew owned a computer then, but my maverick fourth grade teacher had bought one and brought it to our classroom. How times have changed since then!

  2. I was thinking about my aunt’s house recently. I haven’t been to it in fifteen years nor spoken to her in at least ten years. But I was thinking about it, and it’s like you’ve written. Little bits jump out, trying in vain to make some sort of whole.

  3. I love this! I love all the things you said without words. I feel like I just grew up with you.

    I missed your blog while I fell of the face of the blogosphere. :)

  4. Ben

    I love reading little slices of life like this. You’ve also managed to make me feel very old here =)

  5. Ingrid

    Your blog always tugs at my heart, Kristan. Lovely, lovely stories. It’s good to take time to remember those special (and ordinary) moments from childhood. Thanks for sharing them, and for reminding me.

  6. Juliann

    This is so nice. I am coincidentally going past (but not to) my aunt’s old house in South Carolina. I remember it from my childhood: brick, ranch-style, with flowers and bumblebees everywhere.

    Thanks for sharing your memories. It spawned some of my own.

  7. Julia

    Maybe someday my niece or nephew will remember my house with such love. Although I doubt they will write about it so softly or so well.

  8. Meghan-
    No kidding! I got my first computer at 2 and 1/2, which was also quite early. (My parents had to have them for work.) Now I feel like kids are BORN texting and emailing…

    Sonje-
    Maybe you should write about it. ;)

    Steph and Ing-
    Aw thanks.

    Ben-
    Lol you’re not though!

    Juliann-
    Must be the season for aunts!

    Julia-
    You never know… There’s obviously writing in your blood, so there might be some in theirs too. :)

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