Down Central Avenue

My grandparents are waiting for us at the baggage claim in the airport. After piling our suitcases into their cold van, we drive off onto the long road that will lead us all the way to Lester Prairie. I read my new book until we reach the farm where Mom once skidded on the ice into the ditch. It was the age before cell phones and the nice farmer had helped her before it got too cold. When we turn on Central Avenue, I already know my way around. There is a cream-colored house with an attic story painted blue. Mom’s cousins used to live there. Then there is the Laundromat. Jonio’s—I love their pizza—and the bank are on the right. The pretty white gazebo is lit up with Christmas lights on the left in the middle of the snow-covered field. If I look hard enough, I can make out the spooky boarded up house at the far end of the field. Grandpa Larry will keep driving past Angvall Hardware and the tiny abandoned gas station with the broken window across the street from the bar. Ahead of us, I can see the curb where we sat for the summer parade. But Grandpa turns off Central before we get to it so that we cross the train tracks. With only two blocks until we get to their house, all I can think about it how much I need to use the bathroom.

My parents give the warning that we are almost into town. My brother and I power down our Game Boys as we pass the Otto’s farm. We turn onto Central Avenue and I feel a funny sadness that the drive is already over. I had been so busy playing as Mario that I had missed some of my favorite familiar sights down the country highway. But the brown brick buildings on Central are always there ready to greet us. The street is hung with its annual tinsel decorations. Jonio’s is now Scooter’s. I look to the second floor of the adjoining building. The Archery Club is unchanged. First Community Bank’s sign flashes to show the dropping temperature. Though you couldn’t tell in the snow, the railroad tracks are gone. We were here the summer the Great Northern Railroad was being dismantled. I remember it because my parents conspired and stole a few of the old rusty spike pegs and stowed them in our luggage. Imagine the TSA’s surprise and confusion when they unwrapped the bubble wrap to find the heavy pieces of metal tucked away between the dirty clothes.

It feels like summer vacation all over again as we drive once more down Central Avenue. Then I remember why we are here and I feel sad again. It is early August and we have returned for the funeral of my Great-Grandma Deloris Karels. We pass Big Don’s Carthedral and I crave the mochachino slushy the Artmanns mixed in their machine every summer—it always felt like a special service done just for me. I could really use the cheer the sweet drink brings. Further down Central Avenue past Angvall Hardware is the Central Café. Two of my cousins were waitresses in the small but very popular restaurant that serves amazing hearty brunches--my favorite kinds of meals. I could use one of those right now, too. The café is the kind of place where families gather or the older generations still meet for coffee and everyone comes out smelling like the kitchen. But what I really love about this place is the embossed tin ceiling signaling the building’s original purpose as a drugstore. Both my mom and Grandma talk about it as the place to go for a sodapop. I imagine the sunny place as its former drugstore self, serving the sodapop-sipping sweethearts with their full-skirts and slicked hair. We won’t be bringing my great-grandma out of her apartment for brunch in the café this time around. Even the spooky old house I call my own still stands, still boarded up and deteriorating in its copse of trees. I want to think it looks a little sadder on this visit just for me.

We are staying at the AmericInn in Waconia again. We take Carver County Road 30 to get into town. I could do this in my sleep. Our rental car, this time from New Jersey, turns past the Lester Prairie Medical Clinic. We pass through the warehouses that line both sides of the avenue. The bank of brown brick buildings on the right has stood for a hundred years. I recently saw a picture from 1922 of Central Avenue looking up towards North Juniper Street. The only major difference from the sepia-toned photograph and one taken today would be the old motorcar on the street. I was so sad to hear that due to an electrical fire this past year, the restaurant on this old block burned down. But just across the street in Central Square Park stands the new gazebo, a sturdier model that recently replaced the white one dating back to 1932. Though the summer grass is patchy from the hot sun, the gazebo's shade is cool and inviting. The granite monuments and flagpoles of the Lester Prairie Veteran’s Memorial are on the corner of the park.  My grandpas' names are engraved in the stone along with other LP vets. A special committee of women like my Grandma take care of the flowers that surround the memorial.

I know precisely when to look back as we turn onto Hickory Street from Central Avenue to see the perfect view of my house. In my mind, the boards melt away, the paint color returns as if brand new, and flower beds sprout in front of the windows. I liken myself to Ms. Honey in Matilda when she takes back her Victorian house from Ms. Trunchbull. I’ve imagined the place as my own home or a small historical museum. Recently, I learned that it was originally built as the Klatt Hotel in 1910 before it became what my parents remember: the Alice Haney Nursing Home and later a private residence. I add bed and breakfast to my list of possibilities as we drive further from Central Avenue towards my cousin’s house.