There Goes The Neighborhood

There Goes The Neighborhood

            I take a deep breath. The wrought iron gate creaks on its hinges, and I step onto the stone path. My heart beats faster as I walk up the blue painted steps to the front porch, and it’s practically in my mouth when I ring the front doorbell—on the bottom, because that’s the only way it works.

            The door opens, and I’m greeted by blonde hair, blue eyes, and shimmering smile.

            “Hi,” she says politely, “Can I help you?”

            “H-hi,” I stammer. My heart races and my brain struggles, trying desperately to remember the speech I’d practiced a thousand times. “Hi. Um…I used to live here—like…until last week when, um, you bought it, and I… I was wondering…if you wouldn’t mind if I could just come in. Just to say goodbye?”

            Her face softens, and she nods. “Yeah. Sure. I’m sure mom won’t mind.”

            I let the dark-haired girl in through the front door, feeling a bit guilty. She looks sad.

            “They don’t like us,” I can hear my mom saying, “They think we’re taking their neighborhood. Gentrifying it. “

            She always says it with a toss of her head, a dismissive scoff. I always feel dismissive too. It’s not my fault they can’t afford it, so why should they blame me? But now I feel bad for feeling that way. Because if I was in their position, I would hate me too.

            I watch her walk up the carpeted stairs, and I tiptoe behind her. As she runs her finger along my bedpost, I realize that this isn’t really my room. It’s been hers for so long, and I feel like it still should be.

             I feel like a thief.

            I run my finger along the bedpost. The walls around me are a bright shade of pink, and it scares me. They used to be blue, a dark, soft, comfortable blue. But that was when they were mine.

            Everything in this house is different now. The walls, the rugs, the furniture. I look around me and I feel scared, because I feel like my childhood memories will vanish, along with this house. This house that isn’t mine anymore.

           

            I step out the front door again, and take one long, last, sad look. I walk down the steps, down the path, and to the gate. As I close the gate behind me, I turn, forcing myself to face away.

            “Goodbye,” I whisper.

            There goes the neighborhood.