by Olivia Wood
I still remember the evening they finished building me. The final rays of sun dancing off my new shingles. The delicate tendrils of breeze drifting through my open windows, investigating every corner in their reach. The men stood back and surveyed me, pride in their eyes that evening. They revisited often, each time bringing a plethora of items with them. But suddenly, one day, only one man returned. He brought another human, similar to him, and yet...different. I learned this one was called a ‘woman.’I could feel their presence that night. And the next. Though the man left every morning, I was soon to learn to expect both humans back by the evening for something called ‘dinner’. Life became familiar, like a pattern to me.
And then came the child. After a long and confusing day I soon found myself the home of three humans. But this one was smaller than the rest, with rudier cheeks and grubbier fingers. Many a day went by, and this creature became taller and lithe, the spitting image of his father.
And then they left. As for what happened outside of my street I know not. The neighborhood became a pitiful sight, and I did too. Humans would wander by every once and a while, bodies wrapped in shabby shawls or feet covered with rags. My rooms were only entered by these humans to be searched and salvaged. Soon I had nothing left to give but shelter. A mournful cry seemed to hang in the air during this time.
Then something changed again. The humans got busier, better dressed, and happier again. My neighbors regained occupants, one by one, until it could only be my turn next. Then one day, with a loud sputter a large box rolled into my driveway, and out came the man. Except....it wasn’t the man. It was the boy from so many years before. He had gained a learned look in his bright eyes, and a jacket and tie not unlike the man before him. He smiled faintly at me as he came in to explore my corridors, chuckling and frowning as he went. Soon afterwards I was cleaned, scrubbed from door to chimney, with two people living in me once again. However, the man-who-was-the-boy would leave again soon, to go to something called a ‘war’. It was a day of great emotion. She looked proud, and yet cried. He looked regretful, and yet determined. We would not see his return for many moons. The woman had what my neighbor called a ‘daughter’ shortly after the man left, and by his return her golden curls were long and full, like the rays of sunlight that shone through me each day.
After the man’s arrival back home life became normal again. Cars rolled past my yard, children played around it and the man and woman sat on my porch often to watch them both. I couldn’t imagine anything better. Years passed, humans moved, people coming and going from my rooms. Some left to never return, some entered to stay for many moons. I didn’t care who it was. As long as laughter still echoed through my rooms and the streets still bustled with activity I was happy.
A house cannot feel love like human creatures, but we can yearn and thrive. And thrive I did. Saplings grew into great oaks. My paint colors freshened periodically. Baby birds learned to spread their wings and fly every spring.
But little did I notice that once again the humans were leaving my neighborhood. Suddenly I found myself empty and alone. Ivy crept up my yellowing sides. Materials crumbled. Glass panels became discolored and grimy. No breezes drifted through my rooms and I became quite musty.
After a long time, I suddenly heard a roar again, like the box from long ago. A larger, shinier box pulled up in front of me, and a group of men not unlike the group from so many years before climbed out. The first thing I noticed was their choice of garment. Where were the ties? The jacket sleeves? How much had changed since I was last visited? The men began working on me, rebuilding me from the inside out. My yellowed paint became fresh and white again, my appliances replaced. I received newer ‘electricity’ that made me glow inside and out.
But most importantly, I was ready for new owners. More humans arrived, and these brought a girl with them. The first day she met me, she immediately strode to my porch and stared breathlessly at my new door. She blinked and then, placing her hand on one of my porch columns, looked up. “Hello...home.” She said, big eyes alight. That’s when I knew - I was home.
This writing is part of a collection featured in the 2020 Celebrate the Arts Writing Contest, an annual contest hosted by The Arts Council of Westerville, Westerville Public Library and the ThisWeek Westerville News & Public Opinion as one of many events organized by the Arts Council to mark April as “Celebrate the Arts” month in Westerville.
