Fragments

[Sunwolf007]

I pulled up to the driveway that was now filled with my family’s cars. After taking a few deep breaths, I exited my car. Five years ago, when I left for college, was the last time I saw my old house. It still looked the same, a single-story home with basement and colored plastic siding. Like every other house in the suburb, it had three bedrooms and two bathrooms. We were cleaning up the house a bit to put it on the market as my parents were finally moving out. While the outside looked the same as it always had, I knew the inside would be different. 
 
When asked “Why is history important?” my high school teacher responded, “Without any idea of our past we have no way to think of ourselves in the present and have no means to look to the future.” I wondered if he even knew what he was talking about.
 
I entered in through the open garage into the kitchen, passing by the bump in the wall which was created by my sister and me. She was running to tell my mom and dad about something I did yelling “Sammy did it! Sammie did it!” I was chasing her to try and stop the inevitable punishment when I tripped. The next thing I knew I was looking up at the ceiling with pieces of the wall laying around my head. That winter I learned how to patch a head-sized hole in the wall.
 
I slowly walked through the kitchen to the dinning area where everyone was gathered. My mom went through the list of things we had to do to clean it up one last time and then I looked out at the deck. So much had happened in this house that each dent or nick had a story to tell, like the box-shaped dents in the corner of the deck. We would bring the stereo out on the deck, turn the music up loud and dance when we thought no one was looking or when we had a party going on. A large gouge still remained in the wood where I dropped the pickle jar, a reminder of when we used to eat hamburgers off the grill.
 
I wondered over to the living room where there was still a dent in the wall where I knocked a lamp into the wall. I was watching TV the night before my senior trip in high school, wondering if after graduation that everything would remain the same when my dad asked me a question. I jumped so bad that I knocked a lamp into the wall. My eyes fell on a stain on the floor that got blamed on my little sister. I was supposed to be over at someone else’s house, but we had decided to go to my place. I was watching a horror movie in the dark with my friends and little sister when someone knocked over the glass and didn’t say anything until after the lights were turned on.
 
I was compelled to go see my old room. I passed by the upstairs bathroom where the night of my first date I stood in front of the mirror for about an hour trying to get my hair right. That night I wanted everything to be perfect and I was so nervous that I would mess everything up. It didn’t help that my little sister kept complaining that I was in there too long.
 
I opened the door, wondering what fragments of me were inside the now-empty room. The first thing that my eyes went to was the cell phone-sized impression in the wall. It was in here that my first relationship ended by text message. There were small bumps in the wall that were painted over. My parents must have patched all the nail holes from my posters. This was also the place where I cried after Grandpa’s funeral. Although there was no physical mark to remind me I will always remember that night.
 
“You okay?” asked my mom.
 
“Yeah … just ... Where do you need me?”
 
Now I think I understand what my teacher meant. I couldn’t help but come to the realization that all of our fragments are what make us who we are as individuals. Without these important pieces of ourselves, we would be different in ways we can’t comprehend.