The Army House

For as long as I can remember, I've been in this place. I've survived the humidity that embraced me throughout the summers, and felt so many parts of me go rigid in the cold of the winter. I've weathered storms and lived through the history that changed the community that surrounded me each day.

They always arrive and leave with so many mixed emotions. Some happy - a fresh start, a new opportunity and a new adventure. Some sad - relationships left behind, distances that have swollen and ambitions put on hold.

Sometimes I watch her anger and wonder if I just remind her of how things are always changing, but somehow staying the same. My cracks and hisses make her cry because they remind her that she doesn't know me and is sometimes scared of that. Over time, she gets to know me; all the sounds, all the surfaces and grooves. Then she has to go. I become a souvenir of adjustment.

I feel his worry tangled up with his obligations. I see the pride in his eyes as he admires his family with their love and strength. I feel the distress in his chest when he tells them that he has to go. I feel him softly put his palms on me to steady himself because he doesn't want them to see.

I never imagined that I could love until I felt the smiles and laughter that echoed in the halls. I never understood sorrow, until I felt how heavy a heart can feel in an empty room.

I've never had a family to nurture me or scold me when the timing was right - a father to share stories of the past and regale in what the future holds; a mother who would hold me close when I was scared and sing away my troubles; a brother or sister to torment and share secret laughs with; a husband or a wife to share longing stares with; a child to care for and keep safe from all harm. I've never had any one of those, but sometimes I can be each one for everyone.

One day, when my bones get brittle and the heat no longer runs through me, someone will remember the empty space where I once stood.