I don’t know how he ended up in my car but he was there with a big smile on his face, “It’s all gonna be fine,” he said, “You’ll see”. It was Fletcher, the boy down the street who once babysat my boys, before he went off to college. He was the one they loved the most for there were no rules other than to rush to bed as soon as they heard the car pull up.? He was that type of babysitter who? dangled them by their feet over the upstairs balcony and played games with them in the den where they had to jump from all the furniture without touching their feet on the ground. They laughed, they cried and they begged for more.

Fletcher and I were driving to our old house to try and get it back only, we were actually driving on the road that I grew up on back in Longmeadow, Mass, and I was dreaming.

Fletcher was in disbelief that I didn’t know any of the neighbors up the street and I informed him that where I may not know the neighbors, I once ruled that street way before it was ever paved, a time when my sisters and I flew off of sand dunes, now replaced with houses.

As we drove we picked up other friends of Fletchers until we came to my childhood house that stood strong and beautiful up on the hill, where it had stood for forty years. Nobody was home so we entered bravely, without approval. It was worth the trouble we might get in if we were caught. The house was divided by sun rays that were streaming in through the windows, warm and cozy. We looked around in awe.

Suddenly a nanny and three little girls, one with very curly hair, entered. I ran down the entryway to greet them and to tell them that we meant no harm. “You see, I lived here also with my sisters, just like these three girls,” I tried to explain. The nanny held no sympathy and told me that I needed to get out immediately. I knew that I would be reported for trespassing into a house that once was my own.

I woke up sobbing.