The Staircase

Memories of a childhood with this fixture at the center...

     There was a long, whinding staircase that rose to meet the balcony of a second floor.  To these very young girl's eyes, it appeared to take you to another world.  One step, two steps, and beyond she would trot and reach the balcony where she would let her thin legs dangle.  To her, she was in a castle, but soon she was vaguely aware she would live and play no more there.  It was the moment she stood in the foyer, her knobby knees poking out from under her skirt, her brown hair so fine and tangled, and her eyes as dark as raisins, that she watched intently as her mother began to remove the padding of the long dining room table.  She was not scared or concerned, she had no frame of reference for the many changes that were taking place in her young life.  This would be one of her first memories.

 

     In her new home, she would also find a long and intricate staircase.  As she grew, she would dare to slide down the railing or let her bottom bump down the many steps.  It would be these stairs that she would climb throughout the remainder of her childhood.  She grew to anticipate the creaks in these steps and the fine scratches in the antigue wood like the palm of her own hand.  She found safety in the first landing, resting her chin on the windowsill and watching the world outside, her internal world dozing.  These stairs rose to meet the familiar- the comfort of her own bed and the little secret hiding places of this old Victorian home.  Deeply planted memories would surround this staircase, thankfully the majority good despite the family dramas that would unmistakenly take place there.  Like the staircase itself, these events would be firmly rooted in the center of her life in this home. 

 

     The winter nights by the fire, popcorn in hand or the times spent playing in each room of this home - the staircase always transfixed in the periphery.  Christmas morning, she would very deliberately take the first turn down these steps and linger to peek at the magic around the tree.  Slowly she would descend her eyes fixed on the wrapped gifts as if she where floating in a dream. 

 

 

     It would be with trepidation that she would descend these stairs as a young adult off to college, leaving behind this comforting presence.   She would make the journey now required and climb to establish her own life.  Years would pass, this young girl that once twirled in a foyer by the steps of a grand staircase,  would mature into a women who continually fought to discover the good in any situation or in any individual.  She would struggle with life's big questions - questions she was not capable of forming as a child.  She would revisit that staircase time and time again, both pysically and mentally in the emotions that were forever linked to them.  She would find peace of mind when she was satisfied with the answers she discovered there. She had been a young girl content to rest on those steps with her favorite cat  in her arms, stroking his soft fur.  Now, she is a women who looks to that young girl with love and motherly affection. How do I know this to be true, because that young girl is me.

 

    

 

 

    

 

    

 

  

 

 

 

    

Reviews

[Mary E Green]

If only I could write a story not in essay form- that is my new goal. The format of these long paragraphs visually is not pleasing to me and my guess is not inviting....but it is a starting place....thanks for taking a peek!