The House

She stood outside of the house, looking at it from the road, staring at it like she could see inside and through it. The memories were there and wanted to escape from her eyes and roll down her cheeks, but damned if she was going to let that happen. Not over a house. But was it really ever just a house?

Somehow, even after thirty-five years of being ignored and no repair or love, it was still standing. Hard to believe that something shown so little love could hang on like that old house was. It looked old and worn, dilapidated- like it could use a good razing. It was amazing how after all this time, it still had the power to bring back memories; some better than others and more than a few that she would be happy to forget even existed. Those are the ones that still pop up from time to time and catch her off-guard, shattering the illusion of being strong and having the ability to leave the past in the past.

Yeah, somehow or another that old house was still standing, and it looked as haunted as she felt some days. The white paint was peeling and underneath that were the faded splinters of old grey wood that looked as though it was feeding multiple generations of termites. The curtains still had the same white sheers in it that she knew had hung there since she was seven years old. Hell, they may have been there even longer than that! Getting new curtains was not anything she could recall ever happening in that house. The glass in the windows was thinning. The house looked so much smaller than she remembered it to be from her childhood. It used to feel so much more, larger than it looks to her now. It was a palace to her when she was younger. Everything felt larger than life when she was a child.

The kitchen was where the family would gather even when the times got tough and hard for the family. The wood stove stood strong and hot to the left side of the kitchen. The whole house was heated by this thing- meaning the kitchen was crazy hot in the winter and the rest of the house was Siberia. She always skipped school on the winter days they were calling for snowstorms. Every effort was made to stock up from the wood pile to avoid having to go out and get it during the night. To this day she is still terrified of the dark and going outside alone.

The refrigerator had to have been a throwback from the late seventies, maybe? For all she knew it may have been even older. It was small, white, and round. Even as a child she was able to see almost over the top. Right before the move, the poor old thing gave up and stopped trying to work.

And the linoleum. Ugh, that linoleum! Brady Bunch yellow and brown with the craziest pattern of squares and rectangles! It was such an eyesore. No matter how much her mama cleaned it or waxed it, it was always dull, like the sun in a haze. If it was meant to be cheery, it was sadly lacking in the cheerfulness department, a tad bit of a fail at being the ray of sunshine it aspired to be.

This house has haunted her dreams and nightmares for so many years, yet somehow, she still comes home to it one way or another. She finds her way back unexpectedly on Sundays when driving home from dinner at her mother’s house, like a moth to a flame.