Heading down the stairs
I feel the temperature drop
as a thick, musty smell
hits me in the face.
I stop at the bottom of the stairs
as the scar on my right foot
aches… a reminder of the
broken beer bottles that were
normally left after the fights.
The ping-pong table is in the corner
and I can hear the echoing of the ball
being hit back and forth in the championship matches.
The bar seems eerily empty.
Nobody at the barstools.
The lights unlit seem very odd.
There was rarely a day or night
that this basement bar wasn’t
full of people
ranging from teenagers to retirees.
I see the glasses still sitting atop the bar.
(the ones that show the many sexual positions)
My cheeks flush as I still feel the shame
of studying that glass as a young girl.
The smell of whiskey fills the air
and I almost wonder
if my head is spinning from the air
or from the memory.
Either way, I know it’s time to leave.
As I head back to the stairs
I see into the laundry room.
The mass piles of laundry
that sit at least 4 ft high stare at me
as a grim reminder of the time
mom thought that would be a great hiding place
and burrowed like an animal
under one of the moldy piles
to escape the wrath of dad
(leaving us to take the brunt of his anger) .
The stairs seem almost welcoming now.
I feel as if they are helping me climb them.
The need to get out of this house is overwhelming.
I don’t even remember walking out
or through the garage again.
I just remember filling my lungs
with the sweetest air I’ve ever breathed
once I was on the road
and heading towards my home.
**The final piece in a Series of 6
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