160 South Pearl

Dear 160 South Pearl Street,

Today, in a feeble attempt to help my hardworking husband, I mowed your lawn for what is likely the last time. It isn’t a large lawn, and it isn’t even that well manicured, as my mowing skills typically involved avoiding all edges and haphazardly drawing lines across the grass. This lawn houses my very first garden though, the garden equipped with a non-functional rock fountain (a plan that never came to fruition), that we jokingly named “Lake Dyer” and weeded irregularly. This lawn greeted us each morning as Misty happily frolicked across it, rolling her tiny, furry little body in its morning dew (and then trying to jump back into bed to snuggle even though she knows it isn’t allowed). This lawn hosted BBQ’s and late nights sitting in the driveway watching the fireworks over the trees. This lawn watched as….

You are more than just a lawn though, aren’t you? You watched that first night as I walked through the front door no one ever uses, unknowing of what to expect inside. Your walls listened as the person I swore I could never possibly date strolled around the corner to crack jokes and make a first impression. Your walls held strong after late nights of far-too-loud karaoke parties that turned into far-too-late old country song singing. You survived as twenty grown men screamed and tossed their arms in the air Super Bowl Sunday’s while girls chatted quietly in the kitchen around your countertops.

You listened in on that first real argument when I wasn’t quite ready to make you my own. You didn’t give up on me though, and you waited out the right time to open your doors to me. You watched as your walls slowly became scattered with pictures of friends and family you hadn’t yet met. You held your breath as furniture skidded across floors and left dings in your walls. You laughed with us as Misty sprinted laps around your living room and you held us tight on days we would lay on the floor with her during one of her seizures. You stood strong at times that tears filled your living room, and you giggled along with us on nights that Doug would dance across the floor or stick his head into the bedroom singing.

You were there that random Tuesday evening when Misty strolled through the back door, donned with her new purple collar, to help her dad ask the important question he had been waiting to ask. You watched my face turn with disbelief as I saw the out-of-place item sparkling as it hung, waiting, around her tiny, furry neck. You must know, 160 South Pearl, we aren’t deserting you. You have been the safe haven after long days that made us feel as if nothing would ever get better. You have been the first home we ever grew together and made our own. You have been there as dinners were prepared and eaten together nightly. You have been there to celebrate weddings and birthdays.

You, 160 South Pearl, are where it all started. We aren’t deserting you, and we aren’t forgetting you.