The last house left on Celburne was, literally, the last house on the street. It was a tan house on the corner of Brumley and Celburne with a triangular, sloping lot. The house itself was pretty non-descript but the yard was interesting. Poplar trees in the backyard hid the entire back side of the house from view, but the tall yard away from the tree blind was always kept neat and green. I never so much as glimpsed the occupants of this house despite the close proximity. It was their yard, not their house, that behold memories. I spent 15 minutes standing in the very corner of their yard every morning for every year in school. The signpost at the intersection was the bus stop for Brian, Joe and I. One cold, brave morning in my middle-school years, I worked up the courage to ask Brian to give me skateboarding lessons whilst trying my best to hide my girlie crush on him. He told me he wouldn’t mind, but I didn’t press the issue and it never happened. As we got older, Brian and I started sitting nearer each other on the bus and talking more, continuing the conversations started at the bus stop. As soon as I got my car at 16, though, I was done with the bus. The downside was that once I left the bus stop for personal freedom, I rarely got the chance to speak to Brian at school and our friendship strayed. I remained friends with Joe for a number of years, laughing at the number of my friends he dated and overcharging him for gas money. Whenever I look at this yard, I can’t help but remember mornings when the three of us would sit in this sloping little yard wishing the bus would not come… and it always did.
What impressed me most about this house was how long it stayed intact, anonymous to destruction, for so long. It was abandoned long before ours and yet not a single window was broken on it until late 2007. It began to seem as if its existence was completely hidden from vandals and the airport alike. Once the destruction came, however, it came at full tilt. In one day, I found the entire front picture window broken out, the brick half-wall pushed away from the house and the front door completely shredded. Perhaps not, but it seemed to me that this damage was done by the asbestos workers, no longer cautious or concerned since no residents were around. The house faced south-west, which meant the front room was filled with light. Glistening patterns of broken glass reflected warmly on the walls… I have seen lots of glass reflections cast around other interior spaces in Carrollton, but these patterns were exceptionally beautiful….it had just the perfect degree of light and danced on every wall. I went inside this particular house only once. It was so abandoned, so forgotten that I took it for granted it would be there day after day. There was no warning from the crews or no parked equipment outside in the days before… It just vanished… nothing left behind but the line of poplars and a little hay scattered in its place.