I never knew secret places my brother and I had as kids could stir such strong emotions in me but as I look upon them each year in my heart, I understand their strong tugs more and more.
In passing
Passing the cats’ food bowl underneath the breakfast bar, I sighed. The cats had pushed their food onto the floor again. No doubt because they had shoved their greedy little faces in too excitedly.
Smiling and shaking my head like a bemused mother I bent down to clean up after the troublesome kitties.
I didn’t know why but I felt an urge to look at the underside of the breakfast bar. A strange urge, I got to say but I can’t say I’m not a curious person and the excited of discovering a potential secret was too much. So I scooted further underneath and turned onto my back. If someone in my family walked in now they would see a grown woman, head laid next to messy cat bowls and feet sticking out from underneath a breakfast bar.
I gasped as my eyes focussed on some long ago scribblings that stirred realisation. I had discovered a secret! A long forgotten secret. I reached out a hand to touch the childish scribblings left by a much younger me and my little brother.
Childish runes
We had made our own marks on the house, I like to assume without our parents’ knowledge. Even as little rascals, we felt it was of upmost importance to leave our mark on the world.
Feeling safer underneath the breakfast table from the knee cracking adults we placed wonky lines on the cheap wooden (might have not even had been wood) underside.
Looking up at our handiwork we felt it was anything but cheap. Proud we were. The most proud we might ever feel signing our names without anxiety inducing circumstances.
But we weren’t so plain to just leave our scribblings there. Oh no sir! We -as children- had a large array of stickers at hand and went about livening up the place with golden lined red balloons. As I write this I feel a wave of comfy nostalgia.
Laying underneath a small space, close to my brother, looking up at red balloons bouncing off our names as we watched them drift off into the sky in our little world.
Precious Place
In the years that passed in our family home; school, summer holidays, tears and calm evenings in front of the TV, I had forgotten about this precious, small spot of the house. Such a strange place in the house. But not for kids though. They can turn the utmost mundane place into such wonder and beauty.
I moved my hand from my first attempt at writing my name (the first ‘E’ had too many lines) to my brother’s first attempt at his.
In a cute stereotypical fashion he had written the ‘J’ backwards. I almost giggled out loud. I was quite the proud, know it all speller as a kid so I’m sure I chastised him on his mistake and I’m sure he just shrugged and continued writing.
But sadness tugged at my heart. Tears determined to free themselves of my eyes as it dawned heavily on me that my partner in crime, in this childish graffiti could not share in this small but beautiful memory. A rare physical manifestation of a happy, innocent time.
Rest in peace little brother.
