Red door on Narraganset street.

 When we were first looking to buy this house, I remember walking into my to-be bedroom. With big eyes I looked around & imagined where I would put my dolls, I was a mom to dozens of stuffed animals & cared for each  baby doll. This home had to be the one, for them.  I walked into my HUGE closet and there were old telephones, the ones you have to spin to dial.  I negotiated with the realtor that the house was mine "IF" I could have the red fancy telephones. Despite my best efforts, I lost the deal.

                 I remember distantly, hearing muffled conversations of my mom & dad taking to the realtor saying stuff like "this could be the one, this could work." Walking out the door of the White House on Narraganset , my three year-old little heart knew that this place was going to be special.  

             There I was Two years older, Running out the door, wearing a floral red dress to my first day of kindergarten. Two years later, slightly less put together me is running back through the door, avoiding my moms grasp at all cost, first grade was tough stuff. Another couple years go by, I hesitantly walkout the door to try out for a soccer team, infamously known as the side kicks. Proudly, after a year of giving my heart and soul to my team, I walked through that red door on Narraganset street with a shiny trophy that read "most improved." I was content. 

             May 26, 2011. My hair straightened, a touch of make up and my moms perfume, I am walking out, rehearsing lines for my graduation speech at mather heights elementary. Pretentiously going over my planned jokes, that I knew would be a hit for years to come.  

         Not once but twice, two brothers have said sorrowful yet, happy goodbyes & bittersweetly triumphed out this red door to the next two years of their service filled lives. 

            Countless family members piled through this door Christmas Eve. To be gathered as a family, to laugh, make fun of each other to recall embarrassing stories and to be simply content in each other's presence. Bossy aunts directed countless children to re-anact Jesus's birth for the family. We exchanged names in September to see what cousins you would get a gift for on Christmas Eve. I always got the same cousins, those dang cute Jenkins boys were my weakness, ask any Laret,  Judd or wood kid. They had my heart. 

              At the age of 15 I had a handful of boys that I could imagine bringing into the fold, that was my family. They would walk in through the red door & I would proudly showcase him on my arm. My uncles would shake his hand while my aunts told embarrassing stories about my younger days. And one of those times I would walk through the door glowing with joy. Id parade around with a shiny ring on finger and the same boy on my arm. Life would be simply grand. 

              Although I never reached that stage of life with that red door, I am hopeful there will be a new door with the same hopes, same goals, same silly speeches, same family members, maybe new friends, in a new state in a new town, another life another future memory. 

              Here I am may 27, 2017. A sold sign on the lawn & a sadness in my heart. I Walked out the red door, that was now painted blue for the new home owners. I had with me a small box with a pair of my favorite sandals I wanted handy, a flower crown from my brothers wedding and a center piece bouquet, my wallet, and a corsage from my last prom with one of my best friends. So many days I found myself running out the same door, hopping into a friends car, wanting to be any where but home. Now, I am hopping into a car, and all I want is to be back in my home, to recall stories of yesterday or fight with my siblings and then slam MY door. Narraganset 4359, you have my whole heart.

          

      P.S, maybe the next time I am hopping out of my car to see you, ill be at the same door with a shiny ring on my finger, a few children on my hip, and a doting husband in our cool mini van, mockingly blasting miranda lambert- "the house that built me" (cause lets be real, he's probably a Utah boy who never got to have Christmas here).

        I hope of one my kids will be able to pull off a negotiation better then my fancy telephone scandal, so they can convince the new owners to so kindly let us  go see my siblings handprints on the side of the yard. Maybe my two year old handprint will fit perfectly with one of my littles. I hope you'll recognize me. I hope. P.s. over.

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