Selling my memories


Macy McClish

A Texas star hangs on the porch over looking Possum Kingdom Lake.

A house sits at Possum Kingdom Lake, tickling the edge of the water. The lawn is green with two trees sitting at either end. A metal dock is centered in front of the house stretching out into the water, reaching for the middle. A big, rusted Texas star is nailed to the south side of the house, showing our pride for the Lone Star state. A black lab named Izzy slowly climbs down the stairs leading from the front door. She rushes across the porch and down the rock path to the driveway, meeting me with happy barks. I lean down to scratch her floppy ears and her pink tongue covers my face in sloppy, wet kisses.

Izzy disappears, and the colors fade. I’m brought back to reality, sitting out at the ranch of my grandparents, T and D. My family and I sit around the bonfire, eating peach cobbler my dad just took off the fire.

My brother, Mason, brings up the subject of taking another trip to the lake. T takes a deep breath and breaks the news. He tells us that our last trip to the lake will be this weekend, so we can pack up everything and move all the things they want to bring back home.

My heart drops. Tears tingle my eyes. I don’t believe it. They can’t sell it. It’s my second home. It is my home. I can’t bring myself to say anything. My voice completely leaves me as T explains why.

We arrive at the house around 6. I take in the place I spent all my summers swimming, inner tubing and eating homemade Butterfinger ice cream. I can still taste the chocolate-vanilla goodness melting in my mouth.

As we unload, I swear I see Izzy coming to greet us even though she’s been gone for years. D walks out onto the porch with Lacy, their new puppy. Lacy is barely three weeks old. A new puppy for an old house. I start to tear up, but I’m not going to ruin our last trip with tears of sadness. I’m going to make this as good as a it could be for a final trip.

I wanted to chain myself to the dock and throw the key into the water.

— Macy McClish, 10

As the trip wore on, I began to forget that there wasn’t going to be a next time. It felt like any other trip to the lake. Waking up at 7 even if you didn’t plan on it, eating ginormous meals made for 20 with only six, sitting out on the dock feeling the rise and fall of the waves underneath a warm sun, the sensation of the cold water splashing on your face as we ride in the boat.

As the days wore on, I wore down. It became harder and harder to keep my opinion to myself. I would have to leave the room whenever the subject of what was going home and what was being left arose. I couldn’t handle it. There was so much I wanted to say, but I had no place. I wanted to scream. Scream about how much this place meant to me. I wanted to chain myself to the dock and throw the key into the water. I wanted to do anything that would’ve kept them from signing those papers.

But I had no place. It wasn’t my decision.

I stood in the kitchen, looking down at my maroon Converse against the dull orange tile. I started thinking about how I would lay down on the tile in front of Izzy and talk to her after breakfast. I walk into the living room, taking a seat where once stood the table where we would play Mexican Train until midnight. I run my fingers through the brown carpet for the last time.

I make my way out to the dock, taking a little longer in order to take in the smell of the water and the grass and listening to the sound of the waves hitting against the dock. I walk out to the guest room in the garage, a long creak greeting me as I enter. Running my fingers along the bedspreads, I remember how my best friend, Erin, and I stayed up for hours talking out here years ago.

I look to the yellow walls. In the midst of the texture, two hands are ever so slightly visible. If anyone else were to stay out here, they wouldn’t notice. I place my hands into the handprints of 9-year-old Macy. My fingers stretch two inches longer than my fingers from seven years ago.

I make my way back to the house, going through the back door. I stop at the bunk bed I slept in ever since T and D bought this place.

I am a part of Possum Kingdom, and it is forever a part of me.

— Macy McClish, 10

I lay down in the bottom bunk for the last time. The reality of leaving still hasn’t hit me. It feels as if we are leaving after any other trip. I know I will end up crying by the time I get back home. Never again will I pack my bag for the lake. Never again will I get the chance to take Erin back to see the lake full. Never again will I get the chance to feel at peace and leave all my problems back in Canyon. Never again will I see Izzy’s tail wag as we pull up to the house.

I shut the door of Mom’s car and put my sunglasses on. We all wave goodbye to T and D, but it wouldn’t be a forever goodbye for them. I wave to the house and all the memories I had made. I wave goodbye to everything I won’t ever see again. Pulling out of the driveway was the hardest thing I will ever do. It took all I had not to turn the car around and lock myself in the house. As we climbed the hill, I watched the house slowly disappear in the rear view mirror.

I will forever have that image in my mind. Clear as can be. Never will I forget Izzy, Possum Kingdom, inner tubing, the taste of lake water or how the sun would glisten on the water early in the morning. I am a part of Possum Kingdom, and it is forever a part of me.