CLINGING ONTO SOMETHING

Guinevere Reaume

Istood on the corner of Mullens Drive and Creakar Lane with my pink bicycle propped by my side. I stood there for an hour, just looking at the ashy remains of the once-grand mansion that stood there. I had never been inside the house. In fact, this was the first time I had been able to study it past it’s grey stone walls that shielded it from the regular world. Seeing it now, it was as if a kingdom had collapsed. The reign of this tremendous house, with it’s balconies casting shadows over the little homes below, had finally come to an end. My mother hated the house. To be fair, it was quite a contrast from the others on the street. Our house just 50 feet down the block was probably the size of their kitchen. But now it was gone, and so was all of it’s mysterious enchantment.

What a shame, it was only the skeleton of what once was. The walls were charred to the support beams and the grand spiral staircase collapsed on the ground. Their vast windows shattered into shards of glass that covered the lawn. The chandelier was scattered across a singed carpet, it’s crystals still gleaming. I had dreamed of what it had looked like, and even as it was lying there broken, it was more than I could imagine. I stood there, staring, dreaming of the waltzes and magic nights that took place under that chandelier. Champagne driven conversations with strangers in fancy shoes, or maybe a moment alone in the garden on a summer night. I had always been jealous, seeing sleek black cars drop off ladies in long gowns and gentlemen in their finest suits. They showed off their best pearls and dazzling smiles. I wanted to be them.

But the mysterious fog that always crept through the gates in the early hours of the morning was replaced by dusty ash and broken glass. I realize I'll never hear the conversation and music humming on into the late nights I spent dreaming of being there. The magic and wonder that took me out of my own world is gone. I wonder if those nights were as special for them as they were for me. The nights that I was alive through some odd parasocial fantasy will never exist again. Apparently, the family has another house on the West Coast. They’ll be gone and probably throw the same extravagant parties there. My dream will never become a reality and the magic of the mansion on Mullens Drive and Creakar Lane will only be something I dimly remember as a naïve desire.