Week Eleven: Massacre Lane, Scarborough

The Message

Hi, Carol! It’s me—just wanted to let you know that we saw the house on Massacre Lane. It was nice. And I think we can get them to go down even more. But... God, can you imagine? “Massacre Lane.” You remember Carnage Drive in Raleigh. Or that nice couple who lived on Slaughter Road in Alabama?

What does it mean to live on a street like that? I guess something bad probably happened there at some point, and aren’t we in some way... I don’t know, benefitting from this violence? They died horribly, and now we live. We live here, in fact. Where they died.

I don’t know, Carol. Maybe I’m overthinking it. Didn’t we all profit from someone’s misfortune? The natives, the settlers, the revolutionaries, the British, the South, the North, who knows. The world is so old. Streets like these, at least they acknowledge the past. And doesn’t that make the others—Pleasant Lane, Bonnybank Terrace—dishonest in a way?

It is for us to carry the weight of every terrible thing that came before, or would... do you think they would want us to forget? To move forward?

You know, the wife of Lot turned into a pillar of salt for looking back. That should tell you right there! But... I keep thinking about these two statues we saw in Boston last summer. They’re about, I think, the Irish immigration, and have two families—or maybe it’s “before” and “after,” who knows. It’s a man, a woman, and a small child. In the one on the left, the family is just destitute. They’re all on their knees. The man’s slumped over, completely defeated. The woman has one hand outstretched to the sky, cursing God or whoever the Irish worshipped. The child is sad, too, but he at least has a beggar’s pot.

And in the one on the right, the family is on their feet, in the New World. Moving forward. The man is taking these long, purposeful strides; you know, like men do—he only has eyes for the future. The woman is walking forward, too, but in a different direction than the man, and her head is twisted back as far as it can go. She’s never going to forget. And the child is taking the middle road; he’s got eyes forward, measured strides, walking right between his parents, who won’t be walking together long. That boy carries the past even as he looks to the future.

What do you think, Carol? Maybe that’s just how progress is made—whether we are destroyed by the past or forget it, after a certain point we’re just... ruled by it. You know? Maybe change is for the next generation, and the one after that. You and me, we’ve done all we can do. Don’t you think?

Well anyway. I’m sorry, I’ve been in this maudlin mood lately with all the house stuff and Jonathan’s... you know... problems. I think we’re going to buy the house. It’s a good price, and I think the boys will be happy there with that yard, and so close to the beach. I’m sure it will be wonderful. Hope you’re well sweetheart—give me a call when you think of it. Okay, bye now.