Lost: Number 7

Writing101, Day Four: Serially Lost

Write about a loss: something (or someone) that was part of your life, and isn’t any more.

Today’s twist: Make today’s post the first in a three-post series.


Tall gates that I climbed. A long garage I biked and skated in. A row of plants my grandmother watered and trimmed daily. Bougainvilleas, orchids, the wire plants. The pebbled terrace floors we scrubbed occasionally.

The huge main wooden door that welcomed friends and family. The brilliant marble floors we were extra careful not to break. The tall, wall-sized mirror that reflected the whole living room. Sliding doors covered in long curtains and looked out onto rows of clothes hanged to dry. A wooden dining table topped with a glass that broke from a thrown slipper. An old fridge that precariously stood on a wooden stand.

A screen door that led to the dirty kitchen. Pots and pans that sat under the gas stove, above the floor, out of reach from the daga. A top-load washing machine without its lid and filled with water from a green hose. A small spinner that walked around in circles when clothes are put in. Big blue drums filled with water for plants or emergency use. Round metal basins used for hand-washing laundry. A pile of dry leaves swept with a ting-ting and lighted with a posporo. Gray smoke that rose to the tops of trees. Mango, atis, guyabano, kamias. Concrete walls built against tall wild grass that housed snakes. A water reservoir balanced on criss-crossed steel that I would hang from like a monkey.

Barred windows that framed a double-deck bed transformed into a fort. A picture of the Sacred Heart of Jesus that smiled upon the shadows of a family praying the rosary. Painted closets that kept secrets and adventures. Three doors that led to three different worlds. The children’s, the teens’, the adults’. A narrow hallway that we climbed up, hiding in the dark, while the seeker passed us by.

16 years came and went. Then Number 7 was no more. The Revo, the Jeep, and the FX drove us to the international airport. Hugs and kisses sent our goodbyes to loved ones. And the plane bore us in the air, landing 7 000 miles away.

 

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