143 Dufferin Street

(Written for short-short fiction course. Focus was a childhood memory)

It was a shabby red brick house. Home of Claudette Blevins; my second mom and my second home. It stood in the middle of a block lined with trees and patches of well-groomed grass. At the back of the house there was what used to be a large porch, but converted to a playroom; a place of wonder and fantasy. To this day the smell of musty books still triggers the memories of that dim, dusty room – the wood paneling, the boxes of abandoned clothing, strewn toys, and a large green and brown plaid sofa that seemed to encompass the whole room. Affectionately known as The Monster, it became our island, our ship, our home-free and anything else we could imagine.

My belly full of pancakes, I lied on The Monster secured within his cushiony mouth. The uneven polyester curtains drawn but the sun trickled in, highlighting dust particles. They wafted from The Monster, dancing and floating around my hands and through my fingers. Mesmerized. Time stood still.

Clunking sounds of Debra’s Buster Brown loafers drew my attention. She twisted her burly locks and wiped her syrup-rimmed mouth. The Monster and I welcomed her as she curled into us.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

Without hesitation I replied, “Catching fairy dust.”

We exchanged a conspiratorial glance and The Monster once again magically transformed; this time into a lush green water garden where we flitted and swirled from lily pad to lily pad.