Old Dream – New Reality

by Bella Rum

bellas-house

When we were a young couple, we lived in a smaller cape about a mile from this house. It was on our route to the pool. My son and I drove by it all summer long. I passed it every time I went to the grocery store or took my son to the library. I saw it shaded by huge trees in the summer, I watched as those leaves turned red and gold and fell on its roof in autumn. I waited for the Christmas wreath to adorn the front door, and I anticipated the daffodils that bloomed in spring.

I loved its white-painted bricks.  I wanted that slate roof to shelter me. Its windows winked as I drove by, its slate walkway invited me to follow its path to the red door. It spoke to me… Be patient. I’ll be yours someday.

I would tell it, “If you ever go on the market and if I can only afford you, you will be mine.” A lot of ifs. It never went on the market, and it was out of our reach anyway.

It sits on an acre that’s dappled with old trees. The yard has seen better days. It was built in 1964, when I was fourteen. The shrubs should be replaced. The lawn needs attention. The whole property needs a little sprucing up. I’m sure it all became too much work for them in the end. H laughs at me when I tell him that the same couple who built it in 1964 lived in it until they died. I tell him that the husband went first and she only a couple of years later, and their kids are selling it now. He rolls his eyes.

We now live about seven miles from it. It is no longer the property for us. It needs a young couple and kids and a dog. We don’t want the upkeep, but I’m very tempted to call the Realtor. I’d love to see the interior.

H says I’m a stalker.

He has no heart.

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