I find myself at the helm of The Crescent. The detail of the midnight dark vessel is the most vivid I’ve ever seen before. I remove gloves from my hands and feel the grooves of wood beneath my fingers. I stand overlooking the ship before an endless horizon of fog and clouds. I remove my hands from the wheel and lift them in surrender, stating aloud that no expectations, maps, or charted paths will be utilized here. I reach for the comfort in the fur of my first mate as I scratch between his ears and beckon to sail on where I am needed. We push forward, sailing into the thick curtain of clouds. My sight is engulfed by their fluffy opaque forms and I step forward into a new space. I look around and immediately begin to recognize the chain-shaped bars on the windows, the sharpie inked into the wood, the closet I’d find hidden sanctuary in, and the iron vent I’d listen to gauge if it were safe to emerge. I stand in the middle with Marvin still swinging on the fan chain and take in all its variations, years of time meeting in one moment. I can see the blue shag carpet giving way and reappearing with purple walls and green curtains. I know all the different placements of the furniture and watch as they come into view and fade away. Time collapsing in on itself. I’ve been here once before but not with this clarity for the space. From my last visit, I know precisely why I’m here. I find the first lying on the bed, muffling her sobs into a pillow and tracing the pattern of the grated bars on the outer side of the window. I sit on the edge of the bed and pull her close. I tell her to cry if she wants to cry. No one will stop her, ridicule her, shame her. I won’t let them. I let her sob into my chest and cheer her on to let it pour. Just as last time, the others come soon after. All different ages but the same untamed, feral hair and stormy ocean eyes glowing with tears. I pull them each in close and let them sob. I am holding and held. I tell her I am her, she is me, we are each other. I tell her I am here, I’ve always been here, and I’ll never leave. We have always and will always have each other. I let them all cry and I cry with them. The youngest with short wispy curls and the biggest unknowing eyes. They sparkle with the bliss of youthful, unburdensome comprehension and I wish for her to remain adorable and ignorant. The older ones come of high school age and my grief spills out even harder as I feel the pangs of confusion and loneliness radiating in their cries. I let them cry and pull them close within me. As the last dissipates away, I consider exploring the rest of the house. I approach the door and like an ancient ritual listen first at the door and then at the vent for any signs of rage and chaos elsewhere in the house. I turn my doorknob, lifting it so it doesn’t scratch against the metal, and with muscle memories boiling to the surface, slowly push it out at a speed that won’t groan the hinges. I walk out into the hall and see the same vivid clarity as seventeen years of changes meld together along the walls. My own view grows and shrinks in varying heights as I climb up into the black fabric chairs of the dining room but then can reach the highest shelf in the kitchen with ease. Alone in the house. I claim it for myself and each of us. Knowing in the waking world it can never be revisited. I claim the house selfishly for myself in reverie. I make my way through the rooms, reveling in the spatial detail I was unaware remained in the caverns of my mind. Revisiting the sparkles of dust floating in the early afternoon sunshine that pours through the dining room blinds. The backyard unfolds as I make my way through the garden for tomatoes stolen from the vine to the shed where I used to brew potions of mud, twigs, and herbs. I climb the oak tree and sit on the branches where I captured the first image I took pride in, the first inkling that I may be an artist. Back inside, I travel down the stairs through the basement. I pass the mess of tools and shelves of jars storing foods of all kinds and I play for just a moment as if the space and all its belongings are mine. As if I could stay and repaint the terror lining the walls with love. I claim the house for my younger selves, the ones who felt trapped within these walls for years. I tell them to play, redecorate, rewrite their stories, and revel in the knowing I am building the home and family we never found here for our future.
