I put the finishing touch of paint on the baseboard in the foyer and then survey the room with a speculative eye. I have done this in every room of the house: mudded, sanded, painted, and then second-guessed myself and gave each room the once over one more time. But now, I am finished. I am truly finished and my house is ready to sell. Of course, the sign has been up for a week now and we haven’t got a single bite.
The doorbell rings and I throw open the door. A tiny old woman offers me a toothless grin from amongst the wrinkles that form her face.
“Hello, dear,” she says as pale eyes dart around the foyer, taking in every detail.
“Are you here to look at the house?”
“Yes, dear.” She steps into the room, turning slowly to take in the foyer. “I just wanted to see it again one more time.”
“One more time?” I repeat.
“Yes, I lived here as a child.” She takes slow measured steps further into the house, pausing to run her hands along the brick of the fireplace in the living room. “We used to sit around the fire on cold nights and read stories or play games.”
I follow in silence as she continues through each room, offering occasional commentary that gives me insight to all the memories running through her head.
“Who chose this color. My mother had the most beautiful pink roses on the wallpaper in this room…and here, she had that wallpaper so many kitchens had back in that day with the onions and the herbs and lemons all over it.” Her slow steady steps bring us back to the foyer.
She puts a hand on the railing and climbs the stairs with painstaking care. I continue in her wake, prepared to catch her. She doesn’t talk on the stairs. In fact, she just shakes her head as she peeks into the bathroom. She pauses at the first bedroom door, staring at the knob.
“This used to be a white china knob. I used to stare at it for hours, thinking it was the most exquisite and expensive doorknob in the world, perfect for daddy’s little princess.” She pushes the door open without touching the new, metal knob.
She steps into the room and falls to her knees, turning around in circles slowly while her knees or the boards or both creak in protest. Her face crumples in pain and a single tear falls down her cheek. She beckons me forward and I kneel next to her, helping her stand up. She leans on my arm as we head toward the master bedroom. Once more she pauses at the door. This time she doesn’t look at the knob. Instead she scans my face for a moment before opening the door and stepping inside. More tears join the one already on her cheek as she looks toward the long wall.
“My mother and father kept their bed on that wall. They slept there every night until they didn’t.” She turns to look at me again, scanning my face before she goes on. “I woke up that night. Something had scared me. All I wanted was my mom to hold me, so I ran to her. She always woke up at least enough to pull me under the covers and hold me tight while she kissed my head. That is what I needed. That was what I wanted. That was what I expected.”
She pauses, her voice grows hoarse as she fights back tears to continue. “She wouldn’t hold me that night. She wouldn’t hold me ever again. When I got into their room, I could see her in the moonlight. She was lying right here in the middle of the floor. I stepped forward to see if she was okay and I slipped in something. I found out later it was her blood. I called out for daddy to help me, but he didn’t. It took me a while to get up and go to him. He had the gun in his hand still, but he wasn’t moving…”
I recoil away from her as she reaches toward me and run from the room and her memories. Her wailing chases me down that stairs as I leave the front door for the last time. The realtor can handle the details of selling the house now.
~~~Not sure what got me in so a dark mood for this piece, but I hope it entertained you and got you ready for a weekend of fun.~~~
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