Library Home > Erma Bombeck Writing Competition > Winning Entries
Most of the buildings are locked in time. The paintís peeling, the window casings are old, and the lettering covering the facades of most of the stores and buildings are as old as the constructions themselves: Stockmeisterís Building and the Jackson County Court House. Each contains a small picture of what life used to be like in Jackson all those years ago. Everythingís the same and yet everythingís changed.
Driving down the brick streets of Jacksonís main thoroughfare, I smile to myself. There are so many memories gathered hereóMain Street converted into a whirl of lights, smells, and noise as the Apple Festival rolls into town; the Lionsí Club opening up shop right after Thanksgiving to sell candy for Christmas; or Andreaís where I got my ears pierced when I was three.
I circle the town and mentally point out the houses and scenery I have grown to love over the years. The open porches, the beautiful cut glass doors, the old two-story house my grandparents rented when they were first married, and my great-grandmaís home with the letter M scrolled in the center of the storm door. In passing these, I know that I am closer to those memories that give me the greatest pleasure: my childhood.
A couple of streets more and I pass the lane down which my great-aunt lives. Now Iím on the edge of town, and just before crossing that line between town and open country, thereís a huge hill that leads up to a row of comfortable houses. My heart starts pounding as if I were a child again.
Finally, I turn into the drive and like clockwork that dark brown garage door goes up, like it has ever since I can remember. As I pull into the garage, I look to the door. The tradition continues. Though my grandpa has passed, my grandmaís still there, waiting for me to cut the engine and jump from the car. A big grinís on her face and, for a split second, I think that nothingís ever changed in my life. The greetingís still the same. The house is still the same. The town is still the same. Iíve come home.
Author's Bio:Ashley German is a student at the Ohio State University and is pursuing a Master's in Occupational Therapy. She loves reading and playing the piano and is an aspiring writer.
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