There’s something about six-eleven Ogden avenue and the woman inside. From the outside the house looks intimate and cozy but inside there is a cold presence that is difficult to explain. Tall, rectangular windows added to the overall charm of the house and let in just enough light to the rooms below the roof. The roof is high and triangular, layered with light gray shingles that cover the misery inside.
I carry the memory of six-eleven Ogden Avenue deep within me. The numbers appear to me in many forms throughout my day causing me to stop and reflect. I was born and grew up in a broken family in a small town, I lived in silence until I was about fourteen years old, but at that point things changed. The insignificant life of a teenage girl will be permanently altered as the woman from six-eleven Ogden Avenue enters her life.
What was it that made her want to bring children into her home? She worked in the school system so one would think she understood how her actions could affect young minds. It wasn’t my first foster home but it was the one that left the biggest impression on me. The woman inside contributed to my ultimate distrust of adults and people in general. She fueled my delinquency which taught me to break free from the chains of authority that kept me bound for so long.
It’s thirty-two years later and I still can’t shake the memory of Ogden Avenue. My time there was spent behind closed doors which made me intolerant and contemptuous of majority of the human race. I survived only because of my friendship with Penny. She’s hardy and independent. This is to be expected from somebody with her tormented past. Together we survive our time at six-eleven Ogden Avenue but I remain haunted by the memories. I often wonder if she sees six-eleven and remembers how our time spent there changed our young lives forever.