The little brown house
July 4th, 2008In my neighborhood, a couple blocks from where I live, there is a little brown house that sits on the corner of two streets.
Long before I ever moved to this neighborhood, I used to know a girl who lived in that house. Her name was Lauren. She was in my first grade class. She wasn’t very popular. I remember that occasionally, some of the meaner girls in our class would tease her. I can’t remember why. We were friends.
I still know where some of those mean girls are at, today.
First grade was, according to most of my former classmates’ account, a great year. (I say “according to”, because unlike my classmates, I was still recovering from The Worst Year Of My Life.) We wrote and illustrated a school newspaper, had a class store, studied way too many insects (Madame Yvonne was exceptionally fond of them) and sang a whole lot of French songs, songs like C’est L’Halloween.
Before the school year was over, Lauren’s mother died from a brain tumor.
Her father wasn’t in the picture. She would end up living with her grandparents.
She never came back for grade two.
I haven’t heard from or of Lauren for well over a decade.
Her little brown house sits at the corner of two streets. I walk past her little brown house almost every day when I walk my dog. I have had my dog for five years. I have been living in this neighborhood for eight years.
It only hit me last week that the little brown house I pass almost daily is Lauren’s house.
I still remember almost exactly what she looked like.
One day I plan on returning to that little French school I spent the first four years of my academic life at. I keep in touch with roughly 25% of my former classmates, but there are always a couple like Lauren who came for a year and left.
Like Angelina and her Lisa frank backpacks.
Or Chelsea and her beaded geckos.
I often wonder what happened to my teachers, too.
Is Madame Trudeau still in love with Pavel Bure?
Was Monsieur Teraposky really a vampire?
I wonder. I really do.
It is somewhat remarkable how I can remember the names and faces of people I haven’t seen or heard from in over twelve years, yet I can’t always recall what I did the day before today. Do I think any of these people remember me? No. In fact, I’d be very surprised if they did—but I would make the effort to look them up anyway.
But most all, I just sincerely hope Lauren’s life has turned out well. And no matter how many times I’ve passed by her old house in the past without realizing that it was her old house, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to pass by it again the same way.
I was a bit of a loner at my first primary school. Not that I had a problem with it. I just didn’t want to play with other kids ’cause the playground didn’t appeal to me. (Eh.)
After I left that school, I never kept in contact with anyone (being clueless grade three-er and all). But even when I look through my school photos, I wonder where each of them are. I can remember almost everyone clearly. I wonder if they remember me, but they probably don’t.
It’s good to know I’m not the only one wondering.
July 4th, 2008 at 6:51 pmI’m actually in touch with most of my childhood friends, thanks to the marvels of Facebook.
There’s one girl who I used to be best friends with that just moved away one summer (this was in 3rd grade) and I have no idea where she is now.. I wonder too, sometimes, about what kinda person she is now, and what her life has been like all these years!
July 4th, 2008 at 7:28 pmWow, you have a pretty vivid memory of the past. I can only recollect bits of pieces, but certainly not the faces of all my former classmates. I rely heavily on pictures to remember half the people I went to school with. But the ones I do remember, I always wonder about as well.
July 4th, 2008 at 8:22 pmI don’t hang with anyone I use to go to school with in my past. But I must say that I have had alot of memories with them and that’s one thing I can not trade. It’s made me who I am and what I know I shouldn’t miss, because of that.
July 5th, 2008 at 8:41 amThat’s sweet - even a thought for someone counts. :)
Sometimes we remember the oddest details from our past - the details you’d think we’d have forgotten already. And then we forget what we wore yesterday. I think it’s because your brain picks the memories that are important to you, and then deletes the rest.
July 7th, 2008 at 7:00 am