The Cape House
We haven’t gone back since. Whether a mansion is built, or a shed, it wouldn’t matter. The fact is we wouldn’t be the ones building it; it wouldn’t be the same home. My family was the only one that truly enjoyed it. Others rented it, shifting it from hand to hand like an old burden. But now it’s gone, the burden buried, and my soul craves to dig it up. My parents, as well as other family members, had discussed re-purchasing the home after my great-grandfather sold it. We always came to the same conclusion: it wouldn’t be the same. The people we enjoyed it with wouldn’t be there, and there were not enough motives for us to re-purchase the home, to save it. Even the street name changed. But we have the keys, photographs, memories, even some of the people we shared it with. I still hear birds singing early morning songs; I smell summer’s air, but no song of any bird and no summer’s air will ever sound or smell as sweet as it had at The Cape House.
Elyssa Abuhoff is a fifteen-year-old sophomore in high school from Long Island, New York. She has always cherished New England, and it has inspired many of her poems and works of literature. She love writing, dancing, learning new things, and of course, being with the people she loves to share these things with.