Grandpa called and said that the wall of the house in his hometown had collapsed and he needed to go back and deal with it.
I chuckled in my heart, thinking about it carefully, it has been almost 20 years since I left the old house, and the old house that witnessed my birth and growth is now unable to withstand the erosion of the years, the blows of wind and rain, and has become a ruined wall.
I wanted to go back and visit it, like an elder who had been worried about it for a long time. He sheltered me from the wind and rain of my poor and happy childhood; he gave me a warm home on a cold winter day; he witnessed the happy times when I learned and played with my friends; he witnessed the bitter and noisy hard life of my parents; he also kept the most beautiful childhood memories for me and my brother. Old house, I really miss you.
Putting down the phone, Dad and I drove there. The way back to home is no longer the potholes and dust of memory. In its place were the smooth, wide concrete roads, the old poplar trees on both sides older than my age, stout and straight, bare trunks playing a cold and poignant melody in the wind.
There were three rows of houses where I lived as a child, each with 16 houses, and there was an intersection in the middle of the eighth house, and in order to facilitate everyone's passage, there was such a small intersection in the middle of these three rows of houses, as if it were a transportation hub. Don't underestimate this design arrangement, especially in the hot summer, the intersection in the middle is the coolest and most popular place, and the house we live in is the second in the middle row. Every day, the elderly in the neighborhood gather here to play a bridge, which is the happiest thing of the day. Just after noon, there began to be a grandmother with a fan in her hand, staggering forward. Some grandfathers carry stools or cushions to the ground paralyzed, looking east and west, waiting for the card friends to arrive, the lively chess game will begin. Sometimes they were boisterous, and sometimes they burst into a long burst of laughter, and the sounds intertwined and echoed in the alleys where the heat wave was accustomed. We little kids also like to go there to join in the fun, play outside the field, chase and play. Sometimes the grandmothers hated that we were too noisy, so they shouted loudly, so we ran to the depths of the alley and began to play the game of 123 wooden people. At this time, the deep alley was filled with the cheerful laughter of children. At that time, adults had the happiness of adults, and children had interesting things about children, as if there were no troubles in life.
The grandmothers who shouted at us, although they felt very harsh at the time, they always gave me the impression of being amiable and helpful. At that time, my parents were running for their livelihood, and my brother and I would always throw them to the care of the neighbors and grandmothers, and those enthusiastic grandmothers would always bring us rare snacks from home. So we little kids always like to go to their homes when they have nothing to do. At nearly 18:00 in the afternoon, even if they loved to play bridge, they had to reluctantly go home to fulfill the responsibilities of the hostess, cook rice on the fire, and prepare dinner for the whole family. In the hot summer, the narrow alleys are so noisy and lively, and the fireworks are very strong.
At night, I remember that my hometown always likes to lose power, sometimes I haven't eaten dinner, sometimes I just had dinner, and blackouts have become commonplace. Although there is less fun to watch TV, rural life is never dull and colorless. The adults plucked wormwood from the ground and put it in the alley to smoke mosquitoes, and a thick gray-black smoke spread in the alley. Every household smelled the smoke, as if they had received a signal, sat down on the street with a small bench, and began to talk endlessly about the sky. Time flies by in a lively chat. People often talk more and more energetically, forgetting the time that has passed, forgetting the poor life, forgetting the unhappiness and resentment between people. It felt like the adults were laughing and the children were carefree.
Now back in the alley, just as Li Qingzhao's poem: "Things are people and things are not things to rest, and tears flow first", the familiar earthy smell, but things have long been people, cold, desolate, uninhabited, only the rows of dry grass on the roof of the old house swaying in the strong wind.
Grandma and grandpa who used to play cards in the alley have passed away, and the way they walk, chat, and smile is like yesterday, still so clear and warm.
Uncles and aunts who are as old as my father, some have gone out to work, and some have moved to the county like us. The drama of life that was once staged in this alley is now lonely and gradually withdraws from the stage of history.
Walking in the cold and damp alleys, you can also catch the mounds, fence doors, and waist-high walls when my friends and I play hide-and-seek. The friends who used to be friends are now running their own things. Those who dropped out of school early are now busy making a living; those who are eager to learn and are motivated choose to settle in big cities. This old house, old neighborhood, old alley, in our busy and trivial life, gradually forgotten, and what is forgotten is the childhood time.
The vicissitudes of the world, the passage of time, time has created everything, but also made the beautiful things become unrecognizable, the old house is like an old man, no matter where I am, I will miss and worry about him.