I can’t think why anyone would, but if someone did ever write a biography of me, that person should be sure to include the phrase “the house on Twelfth Avenue.” Except for two summers, we rented this house all of our post-dorm years. There were two spacious bedrooms as well as good-sized living and dining rooms. Behind the kitchen and bathroom, the doors to the back of the house had been permanently locked to create a small apartment. That apartment was usually rented by someone we didn’t know (although in the case of that one guy, we knew more about him and his girlfriend than we wanted to, if you get my meaning).
There was also a unit behind the house with an additional four shotgun apartments–in their case, one large room that served as kitchen, living, and dining areas, and behind that a bedroom and bathroom large enough only for a shower (no tub). Debbie, Jeanette, and I lived in the “big house” first. Later, Carreme moved in with Debbie and me and was living there when I married The Boyfriend, at which time, he and I rented one of the small apartments in the four-unit. Memory gets a little iffy for me after that–I know Kathy L.M. lived in the house for a time, and maybe a friend of hers, then later, Husband #1 and I moved back in with Debbie, and that’s how it was until I left Tuscaloosa.
But aside from those of us who paid rent there, it was a place large enough for friends to gather. We didn’t have parties so much as a stream of people who’d come for meals, conversation, study sessions, or just to hang out. One year as a joke I put up a little Snoopy Christmas tree. It distressed Joe, so he went out and got us a big tree. Of course we had no decorations, so we made some and had everyone over to string big bowls of popcorn to adorn the tree. I learned then that popcorn stringing is far more tedious than it seems in books about families like the Ingalls and the Peppers.
Then there were the games. In a not-so-long-ago email exchange I had with my friend David K–from now on, I should refer to him as Dr. David to differentiate him from the other half-dozen Davids in my current life–I told him about this piece of paper I found and put in a scrap book/photo album. The picture of me standing behind him in the Twelfth Avenue dining room is taped to our scores from a Scrabble game. He ALWAYS freaking won, so I suppose I kept this as proof of my momentous victory.
Because David was brilliant and his vocabulary vast, we usually played Challenge Scrabble. That meant I could challenge one of his words, because I was occasionally sure that he was being slyly creative. If a word turned out to be legit, I’d lose the number of points it was worth. One occasion I remember was when he played “agouti.” I challenged it and we went to the dictionary, whereupon I learned that an “agouti” is a South American rodent. WHO KNOWS THIS? I lost the points, and apparently that made me bitter enough to never forget this little cousin of the guinea pig. I mean the rat, not David. Today I was able to use it in a game of Words With Friends I’m playing with Carreme:
It’s only twelve points, but thanks, David. =)
Yeah I saw that word but have learned not to question these things. And I loved that house on Twelfth, not so much for the house but for the aroma of Debbie’s soup cooking in the stove, the music spilling out through the screened door onto the front porch, the porch swing, the rustling of leaves on the sidewalk as students walked home from classes, the all night talk-a-thons. It’s been, what, [number redacted by Becky!]-something years ago? I will never forget that place and love that I have somebody like you to share the memory.
Oh, you just brought back so many memories of our house! I’ll have to remember to post a photo that you reminded me I have.
I’m truly blessed to be able to remember the days on Twelfth with you, Joe, Debbie, Kathy, David K, and Jim S.