The white picket fence and lovely flower garden were just
an illusion, much like great artwork on a bad cd it hid the
truth. Smiling faces deceived a world that preferred not to
know anyway. No one who passed that gate with open eyes
ever saw the world the same way again.
Just ask the old timers, the ones who will admit remembering
that is. Not too many of them are left and even fewer will
speak of such things. Most just hang their heads and quietly
walk away, refusing to even think about it.
Trying to piece together a past that was my own, I returned.
Like most things viewed from memory, the house and yard
seemed much smaller in person. I stood outside the gate
trying to gather the strength to pass through.
Did I really want to know? Isn't it much better to let
sleeping dogs lie? Maybe I'll come back tomorrow. As I
debated with myself, I could feel more than a few sets of
eyes watching from behind drawn curtains. I could feel the
fear and curiousity eminating from hidden neighbors as
they mingled with my own.