Finding the Edge

There is a town off of Route 70, and it sits quietly between two big cities, and the ocean. Tourists from miles around flock to the coast to spend their summers on the white beaches, and sink away into the famed Jersey lifestyle, where blue waves crash on the shore, and the smell of salt water and magnolia drift on the warm, dense air like that's where it was hung. But no one can really understand it's beauty unless you experience it from the inside. In this town, there is a house. A little green house, to be exact. Years ago, it rested on sand. It was the perfect place, just far enough away from the shore that the traffic from the tourists didn't clog the road, but close enough that you could see the fireworks from the boardwalk every tuesday and wednesday night all summer long. It was a safe haven from the outside world, and the harsh persistance of reality. Now, in this house, there was this girl. She was small for her age, and full of wonder. It was the one place she could always count on, when her world was constantly shifting, and taking on new forms. She had memorized, by age four, every square inch of that house. She knew it like the back of her hand, and retraced it's shape and content every night before she fell asleep. She knew where her toys were kept, and how they were always there, in the same place, nomatter how long she had been away. She knew where her grandmother kept her secret stash of after-dinner mints, that she knew she was allowed to sneak every now and then, as long as her mother never found out. She knew where the teddy bear sticker was stuck to the wall, at the highest point she could reach, and she knew exactly how many pencils were in the junk drawer. She knew all the secrets, all the kinks, little details about every item in that house, and every item on the outside. She even knew where to leave the carrots that she fed to the rabbit that lived in the vacant field across the street. It was the one place in the world that she felt no fear. With time, everything changes. Everything becomes less magical and perfect that it once seemed. Now, the streets of that town are narrower. The buildings are grayer. And the ocean is saltier. Everyone rushes, and yells, and beeps their carhorns.That house is faded. Not as bright as it used to be. And that little girl is being forced into the dark age of reason and reality. Someone took her grandmother away from her, and now, there is no one to share secrets with. No one to tell her stories about the Pineys, and the Jersey Devil, no one to sneak late night after-dinner mints with. Someone came in and moved everything around. They threw away the couch, and the coffee table. They emptied out the junk drawer. They repainted, and retiled, and undid everything. Nothing looks the same now. And nothing feels as safe. She can't stay where she is, because she never felt accepted there, and she can't go home, because she isn't even sure that exists anymore. She still goes back to that town, to that house. Late at night, when she is drifting off to sleep, she can sometimes hear the childish laughter of a little girl that once lived there. A little girl with blonde hair, and deep blue eyes. Now, she is just a ghost, stuck in a time she refuses to let go of. The sound of her tiny footfalls echo off the tiled floor, and her fingerprints recover every inch. I should tell her that things have changed. That if she were to look closely, and move on, that she would see nothing is how it used to be. But she seems so happy, so oblivious, and I remember how I felt when her soul was inside of me. So, I smile while I listen to her whisper stories into the invisible ears of the haunted walls, and I watch as she stares listlessly into the night from her special tree in the front yard . I let her be, and close my eyes as the memories engulf me. Someday, I will let go of that child. Someday, I will allow her to grow up, and face the facts. But not now. She is too young. And still has so much to see.