Creaky, glossy, red stained wood floors.One sofa, two chairs. Beige popcorn walls coated with family photos that date back to a time when sequin graphic tees were worn by the grandchildren and my grandma and grandpa were living in Mexico with their brothers and sisters. The living room of 314 N. Ravinia Dr has been a home, a center for celebrations, family holidays and spontaneous Sunday cookouts. This room so small in dimension, so abundant in childhood memories, oozing with comfort and warmth for thirty eight years under the Avila’s.
As a child, I can recall the humm of the air conditioning unit plopped on the back window during the hot Texas summers. In the winter, the purr of the gas furnace under the mantle, my tall and reserved grandpa standing in front to absorb the heat waves with his arms quietly crossed behind his back as the Wednesday night novela airs on the television at eight. My grandma and I curled at the front corner of the couch and my dad slouched on the chair. Throughout my childhood, grandma’s house was our destination for comfort food, rice and beans, fresh tortillas. The aroma of these foods seeped into the pores of our clothing and followed us long after we said our goodbyes from the rolled down car window.
Christmas, Thanksgiving, the living room was a large melting pot of our dearest friends and family. Everyone’s plates piled with our favorite foods and plopped on the chairs, the couch, the floor to eat and crack jokes at one another. Julieta Venegas filled the room with her raspy and jubilant lyrics. Holidays with my family were so simple yet so distinct. Today, I can look back and handpick holiday memories year by year.
Avila 1
This room was utilized for celebration but also welcomed my dad and I in a time of stress and confusion. This room had previously held a Christmas tree, but not long after that, it held my dad and I. A massive change occurred my sophomore year of high school, I chose to leave my mother’s family and reside with my single father for the first time in my life. This transition was a constant fight against adjustment and exploring our relationship in the midst of a new school environment, a new parent and his fresh career. During the chaos of these few months, the living room with the creaky red stained wood floors had transformed into a home for my dad and I. Weekend visits at grandma’s had evolved into a daily routine. This room had consoled us until my dad and I were prepared to begin an independent life.
Independence began on April 19, 2016 when my father purchased our home and permitted the living room to return to a central space for the rest.
The living room was last occupied on August 18, 2017, the evening prior to the farewell of my cousin and I as we ventured off on a new path that was no longer on 314 N. Ravinia Dr.. The living room beamed with laughter, loteria, our favorite comfort foods that warmed the room. The morning to follow, the living room, once packed with love and roucous was overflowing with tears and sniffles goodbye as we embraced each other and whispered, “I love you”.
