I live on a dead-end street. Literally; I’m not being dramatic, my street ends where a large park begins and there are seven houses on it including ours. For the most part, the same people have lived on this street my whole life. There were a couple of older ladies who died in my teenaged years–one of their houses still stands empty to this day and the other was bought by a newcomer to the street several years ago. Aside from this guy, we are all “originals”–here for most or all of my life.

The neighbors right next door–the house I see when I look out my bedroom window–had lived there since before I was born. They were a pretty seriously dysfunctional group (even based on my standards of dysfunction) but they were decent-enough people who I would wave to on the street. While growing up, Tina (the lady of the house), raised two of her grandchildren there. The older boy was five or so years younger than me physically but mentally he was always very strange and slow. He talked to everyone on the street to the point of annoyance and would tell the wildest stories. It was always funny to see someone else caught up in one of his spiels–especially my father.

I remember one time, Tony (that was his name) and I were talking outside and he said “so, I was in a space ship the other day.”

“Oh yeah? Do you mean an airplane?” I asked him.

“No. A spaceship.”

Another of his favorite stories was boasting about things he’d jumped with his bike. Like houses.

Tony had a sister named Crystal who was perhaps worse than him in ways. Also not mentally reaching her physical age, she was hyper and aggressive.

These kids weren’t exactly my peers but Tommy and I would interact with them a lot as we played on the street or near my house. Tony and I played with Hot Wheels sometimes together. I had a huge collection and I’d take them outside and we’d pick a car and play in the dirt and cement of his driveway. He was not a shy kid by any means and one day while we were sitting in the dirt, he asked, “will you show me your boobs?”

I did not show him.

Several years ago, around the time I started college, Tony and Cyrstal were nearing adult-age and they were asked to return to their mother who lived in Arkansas or somewhere equally horrible. So, just like that, one day they were gone. She hadn’t raised them due to laziness and drug addiction but suddenly she wanted them back and I have not seen either since. I heard that Tony had been arrested for stabbing someone multiple times and that Cyrstal was pregnant. I don’t know how accurate these facts are but neither would really surprise me. It’s sad, though. Neither of them really ever had a chance.

Fast forward to a few months ago, my remaining next-door neighbors abandoned their house because of severe plumbing issues and a high mortgage. Now, the house stands empty and to be honest, it gives me a mixed bag of nostalgia and creepiness when I look at it–especially at night. The other day, Ella and I had taken a little walk to the park and on our way back, we climbed up onto their porch and I read the note on the door about their remaining balance on their mortgage and about how payments had not been received. Apparently they are living in Canton, MI now and although I always kept a sort of distance from these people, I miss their presence. They were always pretty loud and had a lot of pets… It felt comforting to know they were there although I never knew it at the time.

Then… A couple of days ago Ella were on another short walk and we were walking up the street next to mine–another dead-end street with even fewer houses. One now standing empty that used to house the neighborhood creep. We never knew quite what was up with this guy but you got a real creep vibe from him. He had put additions on his house after they built a small apartment building next to him. He had no windows on the side facing the apartments and a ton of windows mishmashed together on the side facing the park. … And now he’s gone too and I guess it’s not so much the loss of these people that I never cared about but the changing of a place that I hoped would never change. I grew up here, I spent my childhood roaming this neighborhood that is now morphing into something different and it leaves me with a cold, lonely feeling.

Sometimes I’ll stand at the end of my street, waiting for Ella to smell each blade of grass at the entrance of the park and I’ll look out and I’ll remember all the things that happened in that park and nearby and I feel so fucking far from it all that it hurts my heart. I guess the irony there is the fact that I miss a time when I was so unhappy but yet… Somehow… Sometimes… I just wish I could go back.