Chapter 3
Eleven years old
There are only a couple more people in front of us before it's our turn to ride Space Mountain.
My feet hurt from standing at Disneyland the last couple of days, but I won’t let that slow me down.
The flight from Charleston to Anaheim was loooong. I made sure to have Treasure Island, my headphones, and my iPod loaded with music to help pass the time.
We finally got to Anaheim and spent the evening eating pizza and playing in the hotel pool. I had a hard time sleeping that first night because I was too excited to get to Disneyland.
One more group and then it’s our turn!
I didn’t expect it, but Disneyland is so different from Disney World. When Mom first told Ethan and me that we were going on this trip, I couldn’t understand why we weren’t just going to Disney World—it’s much closer.
“Where is your sense of adventure, Kat?” I could practically feel the excitement rolling off Mom.
We were hesitant at first since we wouldn’t be able to see our friends. But once we got to Disneyland, nothing could hold us back.
Ethan and I practically ran to every ride, Mom yelling after us, “Ethan, stay with Kat!”
But I was always right next to him. I think it’s because I’m getting faster, but more likely, it’s because he’s slowing down for me.
At each ride, we waited impatiently in line until it was our turn. I can tell my parents hate the lines; I get more excited the closer we get.
This trip was part of a surprise for Mom’s 45th birthday. Not a surprise for her. My parents had planned this for months. But it was a surprise for Ethan and me. And since we’re celebrating, we each get to choose two souvenirs to take home.
I picked out a Minnie Mouse sweatshirt on the first day, and I’ve been wearing it when I get cold.
I’ve been looking at all the stores to figure out what else I want.
I keep looking at the pretty, tall, pointed princess hats with fuzzy trim on the bottom and ribbons and lace that trail from the highest point down past the bottom.
I’m definitely going to get one of the pink ones.
Ethan chose his souvenirs on the first day. He picked out some trading cards and a vest from one of the adventure stores; he immediately put the vest on and didn’t stop talking about the tools he was going to put in the pockets when we got home. He’s worn that vest every day we’ve been here.
We’ve spent four amazing days at Disneyland. On the first day, we scouted the area and rode some of the roller coasters. The rest of the time, we’ve been re-riding our favorite rides as many times as we could.
But the best part? Ethan’s been sitting next to me on all of the rollercoasters, and we’ve been screaming our heads off as we plunge back to the ground from the tallest heights.
***
Present Day
I turn off my car’s engine and stare up at my parents’ house. I don’t remember getting into my car or even driving from the hospital.
But here I am. My car parked at the curb.
This house has seen me grow up, have my heart broken, and be put back together again. I always knew I had a home here, no matter what. If I ever needed anything, I could go home.
Looking at it now, I can’t help but wonder how things will change knowing Ethan won’t ever walk through that door again.
Every memory I have of Ethan will be in the past.
My heart sinks at the thought.
This house has been in my family for generations.
My granddad owned it before passing it on to Mom, and his dad owned it before him.
Located in Charleston’s South of Broad neighborhood, the house is a classic three-story, red-brick, narrow house called a Charleston Single House, built in the mid-1800s.
The upscale neighborhood is filled with these historic homes. The lawns are perfectly manicured, and the houses are well-maintained. Growing up here, there were always plenty of kids to play with and a couple of parks nearby.
I stare out the windshield, hands still gripping the steering wheel, and look down the narrow road, admiring the old trees that line the street. I’ve always loved these trees. The branches and leaves form a canopy over the road, providing shade during the hot summer days.
I fix my attention back on the house. Each level features three sets of windows facing the street, all equipped with black shutters.
When I was a kid, I would always ask Mom why we never closed the shutters.
“Do they even work?” I would ask. “Yes, pretty girl, but I like feeling the sunshine that comes through those windows.”
As I exit my car, my mind drifts to when I last visited. It was only two weeks ago. I like to visit every other month. The drive is far enough that I can’t visit as frequently as my parents would like, but close enough that I can make a quick weekend trip when I’m feeling homesick.
That was the reason for my trip two weeks ago. I just needed to feel the comfort of being home.
I broke up with my boyfriend, Philip. We had dated for over a year, and I couldn’t picture him in my life anymore. I drove over after work on Friday and spent the entire weekend playing cards with my parents and Ethan, walking on the beach, and drinking lots of wine.
I grab my bag out of the trunk of the car and begin my walk up to the house. On the southern side of the house sit three white piazzas—one for each level. These outdoor covered porches stretch the full length of the house and offer some much-needed respite from the summer heat.
Growing up, that third-level piazza was my sanctuary. While Ethan and Sam played video games, I could often be found in one of the lounge chairs, reading a book, sipping sweet tea, or playing Barbies with my friends.
I walk up the few short steps to the black door that faces the street, tucked under a small alcove. My parents always keep this door unlocked since it isn’t the real front door. This street door leads directly onto the first-level piazza.
Even though it’s October, it's still warm in Charleston. Making my way to the front door, the decor on the piazza hasn’t changed much. There are two wooden Adirondack chairs on the far end. White pots with red flowers sit on each side of the front door.
Walking to the midway point, I stop and stare at the black front door. I know I should walk in, but my legs won’t move yet.
I take a deep breath before testing the handle and find it locked. Pulling my keys out of my bag and inserting the correct one, I open the door and step inside. The house feels different; the air has been sucked out of it. Or maybe it’s just me?
Glancing at my watch, I see it’s 9:00 p.m. My parents are still at the hospital, wrapping things up there.
This never-ending day is finally catching up to me, and suddenly I feel exhausted.
I carefully step over the fifth step—avoiding the creak it makes—as I make my way up to the third floor, where Ethan and my childhood rooms are.
My steps are slow, like I’m trudging through mud.