To the Mock Tudor Built on the Old Widow’s Farmland

Where I moved when I was eleven and first became lonely. Where Edith, the lonely widow entertained me with cups of tea and plates piled with vanilla sandwich cookies. Where I had a dog, hamster, parakeet, three rabbits and eight garage cats. Where Edith, time and again, told me the story of her husband Rufus who fell from the hay loft in the barn. Where I bought records with my allowance and played them on my record player, singing along to the lyrics written on the sleeve. Where Edith baked peach pie, Rufus’ favorite, to lure him home, that day. Where I found empty liquor bottles in the toilet tank, hidden by my dad. Where Edith found Rufus dead in the barn, a halo of blood around his head, and her son Ralph curled in a corner of the hayloft. Where I first learned to drive my dad’s pick-up, when I was twelve, while he sat in the passenger seat sucking down Budweiser, crushing the cans and tossing them out the window. Where I played in the derelict barn and imagined Rufus lying on the floor, by the cow stalls, with a stone lodged behind his ear. Where I sat with my dog in his doghouse, hiding from the whole world. Where I spray-painted Rufus’s name in large red letters alongside the words “Red Rum” in the barn. Where I first learned to fight my dad, when he was hurting my mom. Where Ralph, now fifty, stood staring in the yard for hours, wearing the same old pair of overalls. Where my uncle found me napping in my bedroom during a July 4th party and kissed me with his mouth open. Where Ralph locked me and the neighborhood kids inside of the barn for hours. Where I sat, age thirteen, in front of my mirror in my bedroom teasing my hair, plastered high with Aqua Net, sneaking cigarettes, watching the smoke curl towards the ceiling. Where we once took Ralph to the DQ and he sat in the backseat with me, letting all his ice cream melt and snake down his arm. Where another uncle pressed me into the corner of the pool, his hard against my body, demanding I wrestle free. Where I dreamt I could levitate. Where Edith defended her son, saying he couldn’t have killed his father on purpose. Where my dog got hit by a car and died. Where I believed that the ghost of Rufus haunted me in my bedroom at night.  Where Ralph was sent to a group home after physically attacking his mom. Where I ran away from home and had nowhere to go, so turned back. Where Edith went to a nursing home and I never saw her again. Where I sometimes drive by, when visiting my hometown, looking at the mock Tudor that my parents built far off the road, wondering how many more lives it tried to ruin.