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原文

The House on Medford Avenue

I have lived in three places in my entire life. The first home I remember living in was mis abuelos house. I lived in the upper flat of their duplex until I was three years old. My brother was fifteen years old, and my sister was six years old. I am the youngest in my small family.

We moved out of that house because mi abuela and my mother were not getting along very well. They argued constantly, screaming so loudly that the neighbor's windows started to shake. When we left, we only moved 20 blocks away.

We moved to Medford Avenue when I was six years old. I vividly remember stepping out of our old Ford Taurus and looking at my dream home in awe. It was beautiful like a flower just coming into bloom.

小说家笔调

The House on Medford Avenue

In the span of my existence, only three places have claimed me as theirs. The earliest sanctuary of my recollection was the home of my grandparents, where we occupied the upper flat of a weathered duplex until my third year. I was the late-born afterthought of our small family—my brother fifteen years my senior, my sister six.

Our departure from that ancestral roof was hastened by the tempestuous, escalating discord between my grandmother and my mother, whose frequent, shrieking arguments seemed to rattle the very windowpanes of our neighbors.

We arrived at Medford Avenue when I was six. I remember stepping from the sighing, rusted frame of our dying Ford Taurus, gazing in wide-eyed wonder at what my child's mind deemed an architectural marvel.