Who Says You Can't Go Home Again?

“Hey, Lola!” I called out as I headed up the driveway. “How’s it going in the old neighborhood?”

“Buddy, what are you doing here?” she asked. “Did you forget something? I thought the last of your family’s stuff went with the moving truck yesterday.”

“Oh yeah, the movers got everything. I just wanted to see the house one more time.” I tried to hold back my emotions, but I have these really expressive eyes and she could see my sadness.

“Aww, Buddy”,’ Lola nudged her shoulder against mine with a friendly bump. That gesture meant more than anything she might have said to me at that moment.

Lola lived next door. We grew up together and she had been my best friend for as long as I could remember. If it had been up to me, we never would have moved away. I didn’t want to get used to a new neighborhood or try to make new friends. The new house was okay and there was a big backyard, but I wanted to stay here where I knew every square inch of the block and everyone who lived in it or visited it. I even liked our mailman. I didn’t want to break in a new mailman.

Lola spotted it first. The family car, a maroon minivan, was creeping up the street. Heads leaning out of windows scanned up and down the neighborhood.

“Run Buddy!” Lola warned.

Run? Where? I couldn’t stay here in the old house by myself and I needed my family. But I had something important to do before I left my childhood home for good.

I ran over to the “For Sale” sign and lifted my leg just before the fat kid with the sticky hands caught me and pushed me into the van.

Word Count: 298