The Commune

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic


Sometimes you end up searching for your past only to have your past find you.

Submitted: August 20, 2018

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Submitted: August 20, 2018

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The Commune

By Carla Charter

I don’t know why I came back here. My daughter certainly does not know why she drove me here. With her impatient, stuff to do life, she never was one for memories of the past but then again neither was I until I was widowed and the past was all that I had in my present.  I’m not even sure what I was looking for, maybe to recapture that summer when this place was full of life, full of love and full of commune. 

The land, at least a lot of the land around the old house, had been usurped. Condos now stood where the front fields led up to the old place.  Past these markers of the new world there was the old dirt road stretching out in front of me, beckoning me away from the computer age, back to the sixties before I became a wife and a mom and a stalwart of the community. With the love beads long gone, I had become who society expected me to be

Now though, at my age, I did not care anymore nor apparently did society either. I was old, a cast off. A person the world passed by with a glance and a nod at the most. Then they went on with their everyday busyness that I used to have.

“Mom this place is falling apart. Why did you even come to look at it?”, my daughter said as we walked through the rooms. She looked at this space differently than I. She could not hear the dancing, the music, the sweet smells of something other than cigarettes.  The youth that I was missing, that I was craving in my senior years.

Then finally there were the stairs, leading up to that attic or the writer’s loft as I used to see it. It was my sanctuary and my peace in those days.  I had left  there in search of something I yearned for, I can’t even remember what.  As I walked to the window, a piece of paper stuffed in a corner rumpled up in a ball, caught my eye.

  I opened it up to reveal me. A meeting of my younger pen back before I wrote about bonds, stocks and CEO’s.  My eyes welled up with tears as my 20- year- old self transformed herself in my mind into a 60 something person filled with a longing that only this place, this community and the magic people I met there could fill.

  “He’s here Mom,” yelled my less than patient daughter from downstairs. Was I ever that impatient when I was her age? I smiled in the acknowledgement that I was.  Impatient for real life to begin, to move on to the next milestone, until there weren’t any more milestones left.  Just me alone with the world busily spinning around me as I stood still.

I folded up the paper and placed it lovingly in my pocket. A piece of my past now lovingly preserved. A past that felt settled and strong and a place that I was now firm in that I still needed in my life.

Still, as I turned the corner, I was not prepared for what this old house had brought me. The realtor, I knew him from his eyes alone, my first affair, my first true love. He smiled at me, I smiled at him and once again we were home.


© Copyright 2018 Carla Charter. All rights reserved.

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