Criminal

GAVILAN HILLS BY NICOLE HUBBLE

May 17, 2018 cat5review

Sixty miles South East of Los Angeles, California, there is a slice of heaven in Riverside County. If one was to go further off the beaten path, they would see a gray and white house with a white wrought-iron fence nestled in black walnut trees and a citrus grove. They would see a family of four and a dog. They would see a house with milestone birthdays, graduations, holidays, death, and a divorce. They would see how my world used to be, how close my family used to be.

Easter Sunday was the day that my family moved into 19901 Gavilan Road. The sky was bright, the temperature was low, and the orange blossom smell was strong in the air. My family would call this home for the next six years. Gavilan Road was a main thoroughfare that connected unincorporated Riverside to the Canyon Lake area, but the minute you turned to pull into my driveway your vehicle was kicking up dirt, for it was a dirt road that my family lived on.

When my sister, Michelle, had her 13th birthday, my dad got her a quad as a present and I think I enjoyed it more than her. The smell of gasoline and motor oil filled the air when we took it out for the first time, never having to leave my backyard since it was three and a half acres big. Our dog Shadow, a grey wolf/husky mix, followed behind, barking and chasing us. I had my 18th and 21st birthdays in this house. Most people have decent parties for these birthdays, not me though. For the 18th birthday I had a Scooby-Doo cake (in my mind that was the last year I could get away with a child’s cartoon as the theme) and my aunt, uncle, and my three cousins came over, and yes I made everyone wear birthday hats. My 21st birthday was not much different –same family came over and I went to the store to but my first legal tall can.

I graduated from high school and my cousin Johnny graduated from the Marine Corps boot camp. For my graduation there was no big get-together at our house, since four of us, I and three of my cousins, graduated the same the year. On my cousin’s graduation, though, we had a party that lasted until the wee hours of the morning. We drank Coors Light and smoked Marlborough Ultra Lights, shaved his head, played darts in the garage, and sat around talking about how his father would have been proud of him.

My mother’s favorite holiday was Thanksgiving. She always had to have Thanksgiving dinner. Thank goodness, our house had the space and the kitchen to support this. My whole family would come over to eat the meal that my mom rose at five o’clock in the morning to prepare. We would wake up to the smell of boiling giblets because that makes the best base for gravy, at least, that is what my Grandpa Wes would say. There would be seventeen of us eating turkey, cranberry sauce, mashed potatoes and gravy, stuffing, green bean casserole, and olives. Then all the cousins would clean up while the adults talked about whatever the hot topic was at the time. Most likely, my grandpa would bring up something President Bush said or did. My family never was afraid to talk politics. Coffee would then be brewed, and the smell of pumpkin and pecan filled the air. My grandpa always made these pies for this occasion. He also had pinwheels for the kids if they didn’t like pie.

My Uncle Johnny and Grandpa Gerhardt would pass, both from colon cancer. My mom took these deaths hard as they were her brother and dad, but my dad took my uncle’s the worst. My dad and uncle worked together at Point of View, Inc. Because of this, they got close. I never had seen my dad cry until my uncle’s funeral and my dad didn’t just cry, he sobbed. My mom ended up comforting him.

Then my parents divorced and that was what brought my slice of heaven crashing down all around me. My dad came downstairs one morning, took off his wedding ring and placed it on the counter. Then he told my mom that he wanted a divorce because he thought that she was cheating on him. My sister took it the hardest, and she blamed my mom for years after. I looked at it as two people just fell out of love. To this day I don’t think that either my mom or dad are to blame.

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This house in Gavilan Hills and the time that was spent there represent the best years of my life so far. My family was one unit and all the members were still there. In my memories, I see the love and support of my family, the good and bad times. When I look back, I see something that I will never have again, not like that.