Midnight oil

The trailer on fourth street that i grew up in was victim to a housefire on christmas day. We got word that there had been a fire earlier in the evening, and Herb the photographer already had pictures posted on his site. As we scrolled through the images - flames pouring out of window frames, licking at the crisp air - a familiar feeling crept into my mind. Finally, after seeing one pic of the snowroof being cut into, i knew which trailer it was. It makes me feel sad (so sad) for more than one reason. Of course i am sad that Shaggy, (the current tenant - nicknamed such for his resemblance to the scooby-doo character) lost every single one of his belongings. And do you know how hard it is to find size 13 shoes? I am also sad because, for the last few years, i have wanted to go knocking on that door, to ask whoever lives there if i may step in, to just have a look around. There's a pretty good chance i'd know the person, so it wouldnt be too weird. But i looked forward to that day when i'd be brave enough, when i would think of its importance to me and act on it, to feel those rushes of memories as i peered into each room. The room with the blue blue sky and the white white clouds on the wallpaper - tacky now but perfect when i was 10. The master bedroom at the far end, with its breath-taking view of the low-income housing. I would picture the masking tape line my sister and i made to separate each of our sides. The "dining room" area where i spent many meals covering my downcast eyes with my hand, so embarrassed of the family that loved me, that i loved too. So much time sitting at the table after everyone had finished, not being able to leave until i had eaten every gross brussell sprout, one time even sticking some of the uneaten food in the cupboard behind me. As i type these things out, the more and more i remember (like a magician's never-ending hankerchief being pulled from his pocket.) I am sad that it took that trailer burning for me to remember them.