Troy, Alabama. The county seat of Pike County, “famous” for Troy University. Home to college students looking to start a quiet life and to middle-aged homeowners looking to conclude their quiet life. The birthplace of yours truly, the one writing this article.

On the cold early morning of December 28th, 2001 at approximately 4 A.M., Michael Jones was born in Troy Regional Medical Center to a recently wed Valorie and Michael Jones. He would go on to attend a boarding school and write for the acclaimed Lithium Magazine. While I was born and raised here, it is not a place that contains many early memories. I can recall attending a college class with my mom as a three-year-old. I can remember a house on Smith Street and a Power Wheels that looked like a Cadillac. Most vividly, I remember leaving, moving out of town to a bigger house with a forest for a yard.

To find more memories, I look to Fort Gaines, Georgia. Fort Gaines, a small town with a racially mixed population, was home to Clay County Schools, the workplace of my mother, and a school system with a very disproportionate racial makeup. I attended school with only black kids, having maybe two white classmates and one Latino classmate in my 10 years there. I remember having a girlfriend in fourth and fifth grade, being teased for being mixed, being the sensitive one, and demonstrating how sensitive I was whenever a rumor went around that I liked boys. I remember being a suckup to teachers, asking them to give me something to do when I got bored with work. I remember the awful uniform khakis and polos, and I remember being afraid to fail an assignment or get in trouble for anything out of fear for my future and out of sheer disappointment in myself (as if nine-year-old me could actually be ruined for a 70 on a quiz).

Chronologically, the next stage would be the one in which I talk about my freshman year. However, I resent that year of my life due to my simple displeasure in regards to the people from that time. Another reason I resent that year is simply because of the person I found myself to be at that time. I denied a lot of truths about myself and accepted a lot of inaccuracies as well, and I generally dislike what I thought I knew and what I liked at that time, and while I believe that everyone thinks of themselves that way at some point in time, I don’t wish to recall memories of that time at this moment.

Boarding school, sophomore year. Sophomore year marked a year of sheer development. I was still the person from freshman year. Over that year, however, I grew in ability and taste and knowledge at a remarkable speed. I remember bad papers I wrote for my English class, a history project I worked on halfheartedly and aced, tears of sadness and joy shared alike under the invisible stars, sandy hammocks and Ouija boards, and realizations and redefinitions of various features I saw integral to my being. I relive and recreate these memories daily at school, and I am immensely grateful.

And, today. I write this at home, on a break from school-home. I live and change with a living and changing environment, and I watch and react as the world adds and subtracts various things from my life. Home is always going to be within myself, but I am always amazed to find places, experiences, and people to share it with.

By Michael Jones


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  2. i really like your writing voice and how this ended. so sweet

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