Castle In The Sky

Castle In The Sky

When I was a child my mother would call our home a castle. Our house was built in 1910, my little brother had a lifelong theory that it was haunted. I have a million memories of 306 Beach Avenue but perhaps the most memorable & vivid pieces in my memory were the details. The dining room was filled with beautiful stained glass windows that turned the entranceway hues of purple & red every afternoon around 4. The downstairs closets had crystal doorknobs & we had an elegant antique dining room table, with beautiful carvings into it’s wooden frame, that we never even used. We had an attic that was always empty, & a basement that was full of old junk, antiques, & my grandfathers film reels from when he was an aspiring actor in the 1960s. 

It’s a soft & golden memory to remember a time when that warm feeling of walking into the castle with dirty blue carpet from the 1980s was what home meant to me. 

The fourth house on street my grandmother had lived on since she was nineteen years old was sold in 2016. It feels as if every night that summer we danced in the living room while my grandmother played piano. We’d cry in the kitchen late at night, looking at old Polaroids & frozen moments of the childhoods that my mother and I both had in that house, decades apart from one another. 

Tonight, We’re driving 241 miles from South Dakota in Minnesota. I close my eyes to take a nap & for a moment it feels like we’re flying. We’re in an airplane soaring over highways through moonlight skies in the dead of night. 

The bumps in the road are like some sort of turbulence & the engine is loud as hell. I remember that I made chai tea with almond milk the night before, but put it in the refrigerator because it was too damn hot to drink. I make my way towards the kitchen & you turn the radio on. 

There’s a warm feeling that walking my bare-feet across the RV floor gives me. It makes this place feel a little bit more like a real home, and not like some strange conjunction of rusty old metal & white paint on oak cabinets rolling down the highway. 

I look up and watch the streetlights dance across the windshield as our headlights press on into the distant blackness that continues on so long as the road does. 

You look at me and tell me how brilliant of a life this feels like. We chase down the moon like it guides the road into the horizon.

There are moments that I wonder if my mother’s second home, her apartment, feels like a real home to her after all this time. & there are moments when I find myself asking my heart the same question . 

Well, today cried in the kitchen. Last night I danced alone to Pink Floyd in the back bedroom.

And tonight, 

we keep on flying,

Our castle in the sky. 

Passing through Nebraska.

Passing through Nebraska.