I have visited this property once every years ever since my Uncle Billy died. Now, an empty and broken structure sitting at the corner of Main Street and First Avenue, this was once the neighborhood gathering spot and my home. My mother, father, sister, and I were housed in one section of the second floor while my aunts and uncles and their families were housed in other sections.
By day, the downstairs was transformed into a schoolhouse and the moment the sun set, the schoolhouse would become a bar where men would come with a desire to drink and conduct occasional fights. My cousins and I would gather in the large room upstairs and we would read whatever books my Aunt Sally was able to get us that day.
One night, as I was reading to my cousin Sammy, there was a loud boom. “What was that?” Sammy stood up, “Let’s go take a look.” I nodded. Together, we crept out of the room and made our way downstairs. It was a scene I would never forget. Men were shouting, pointing guns at one another, and destroying furniture. If wars were fought by drunken men, it would look like this.
A Response for Sunday Photo Fiction.