charloft - Sunday Prompt
Tonight, take us home. Where did you grow up? What was it like? Did your family have their own house? Did they rent? What were the neighbors like?
For bonus points, tell us a story about what happened when you went back there. Was it a good experience or a bad one? Did the new owners/tenants mind that you were there?
I was born at New York Presbyterian Hospital in New York City. My parents lived on Long Island, but they were visiting my Aunt Priscilla when my mom went into labor. After I was born, we went back to the house on the island. We lived in Huntington, fairly close to where my best friend Jeff lived and still lives. We stayed there until my mom died when I was six years old, and then my father moved us to an apartment on Central Park South.
I don't remember too much about the house in Huntington. What I remember is that it had a big kitchen, and that we seemed to spend the most time there than in any other part of the house. It had a big yard that I used to run around in with our dog, Sydney. I remember we lived next to this old guy whose name I don't remember anymore. He used to give me candy whenever my parents weren't looking -- he passed away a year after we moved.
I remember more about the apartment, though, since I lived there longer. My dad and I lived in the apartment until he died when I was a senior in college. I stayed there, but I didn't spend much time in it. I spent most of my time with Ava at her apartment, and had more or less moved in with her before we broke up. After the relationship ended then, I packed my things and lived at the apartment my dad had bought. I didn't really know my neighbors too much; they came and went every three or so years, so I never really came to know any of them well enough. We owned the apartment, though, which is why I was able to get so much for it when I finally sold it and moved to California.
The last time I went back to see the apartment, I was with Rachel. I wanted to find closure for everything that had happened there, but it was too much for me. I became so emotional that I kind of shut down and ended up punching a metal door to the utility closet in the hallway. I broke my hand and had it in a cast for weeks. I felt horrible for making Rachel feel bad about bringing me there. It wasn't her fault -- It was my own stupidity at not being able to handle my anger and my emotions better. I don't know if the new owners knew I was there, but someone had to call in to replace the door.
I haven't been back since, and I don't really plan on it any time soon. I'm ready to end that chapter of my life so that I can continue writing this crazy-ass story.
James S. Carlisle
Original Character
470 Words
For bonus points, tell us a story about what happened when you went back there. Was it a good experience or a bad one? Did the new owners/tenants mind that you were there?
I was born at New York Presbyterian Hospital in New York City. My parents lived on Long Island, but they were visiting my Aunt Priscilla when my mom went into labor. After I was born, we went back to the house on the island. We lived in Huntington, fairly close to where my best friend Jeff lived and still lives. We stayed there until my mom died when I was six years old, and then my father moved us to an apartment on Central Park South.
I don't remember too much about the house in Huntington. What I remember is that it had a big kitchen, and that we seemed to spend the most time there than in any other part of the house. It had a big yard that I used to run around in with our dog, Sydney. I remember we lived next to this old guy whose name I don't remember anymore. He used to give me candy whenever my parents weren't looking -- he passed away a year after we moved.
I remember more about the apartment, though, since I lived there longer. My dad and I lived in the apartment until he died when I was a senior in college. I stayed there, but I didn't spend much time in it. I spent most of my time with Ava at her apartment, and had more or less moved in with her before we broke up. After the relationship ended then, I packed my things and lived at the apartment my dad had bought. I didn't really know my neighbors too much; they came and went every three or so years, so I never really came to know any of them well enough. We owned the apartment, though, which is why I was able to get so much for it when I finally sold it and moved to California.
The last time I went back to see the apartment, I was with Rachel. I wanted to find closure for everything that had happened there, but it was too much for me. I became so emotional that I kind of shut down and ended up punching a metal door to the utility closet in the hallway. I broke my hand and had it in a cast for weeks. I felt horrible for making Rachel feel bad about bringing me there. It wasn't her fault -- It was my own stupidity at not being able to handle my anger and my emotions better. I don't know if the new owners knew I was there, but someone had to call in to replace the door.
I haven't been back since, and I don't really plan on it any time soon. I'm ready to end that chapter of my life so that I can continue writing this crazy-ass story.
James S. Carlisle
Original Character
470 Words