The House Part I

I don’t remember the exact moment you appeared in my life, or when I said you could stay in it. I was aware you might visit because people in the neighborhood would complain about you knocking on their doors at night, but I wasn’t prepared for you to make a home here, and what I thought would only be a phase ended up a complete invasion of the home I never got to explore for myself. You stole it, and for reasons I still cannot decide why I let you. Even though the details of your arrival are blurred, I still faintly recall how familiar you seemed. Had we known each other before you came? It felt like we were waiting to meet. Maybe that’s why I opened the door.

Now I am no longer in the home I began with, and I’m not even sure I’d recognize it if I saw it. I reminisce about what it was like before you, but my mind can only ever messily sketch one scene, always the main room, two big windows reminding me how much light was there, and how welcoming and warm it was. I was excited to see what was behind every closed door and at the ends of hallways I still hadn’t walked down. And now they no longer exist, or maybe they do somewhere under all of this.

My home certainly was not made for two, and you came so early and unexpectedly that I didn’t have time to prepare and make space for you. Your solution was to take my space. I watched as you reconstructed and rearranged things, throwing pieces of my life out the door so that all of yours could fit.

At first, I was intrigued by you. Curious. You were mysterious and poetic. You looked scared and exhausted most of the time, like you were running from something, or someone. I immediately felt responsible for you, so I sheltered you inside my warmth and welcomed your unknown chaos with my arms open. We spent a lot of time together. You’d wish for rain, and it always came, so instead of going out, we’d stay in and play games. We’d look out the windows and watch the world tinted grey and watch grey people walk by, then try to guess their names.

Then you asked, “What do you think they’re thinking?”

“I don’t know” I answered. You thought it’d be fun if we started guessing that too.

One day we were playing, and you let me know it was finally my turn, just as a woman I once knew was walking down the sidewalk on the other side of the street. I wanted to open the window and say hello. It would be nice to hear a familiar voice gab about their daily affairs and laments, but then I remember you hate when I open the windows, and that the last time I even tried lifting a finger to the handle you snatched me back so quick it took me five minutes to catch my breath. My chest began to rise in temperature. I pulled my thoughts back and I almost whispered,

“She might be thinking about me, wondering if I’m okay in here”

You didn’t want to play that game again after that day. You shut the curtains and they didn’t open again.

You’d show me things that I had never seen and tell me things I’d never heard. I was so naïve, and I could tell that that excited you because you’d smile crookedly as you watched me do everything you do, say everything you say. Follow the leader became your favorite game, so we’d play it everyday. You said we’d never have to leave this house because here we have everything we need, and I felt needed. I opened up to you because you made me feel like I could learn from you, and I did.

Slowly this started to become your space, your home to do with it what you please, and you did that with ease as you kicked your feet up and took control.

I remember how lonely I started to feel, and when I’d tell you about it, your response was always “but you have me”. I started to feel like all I had was you and I began to wonder when I started losing the rest of it all. So, one day when the rain finally stopped, I decided I’d go outside and maybe take a walk or stop to talk to some of the people we watched through that window. I opened the front door and for the first time, the world seemed forgotten. The sun felt like bleach in my eyes as its rays poked through the trees that were waving to get my attention. I wondered if I even knew how to climb them anymore…my feet remained pressing firmly on the ground. I wanted to speak but I didn’t quite know how. You always liked it quiet in the house, but out here all these sounds were mixed like they were singing some sort of song. The music of the bystanders was carried by the wind through my ears. It was nice to hear without the filter of the walls. The warmth of the sun hitting my face melted all through my stiff, chill body. I couldn’t take one step out before I heard you coming down the hallway. I came back in feeling like I just landed on a different planet. It even felt different inside the house. There were so many of my things covered and hidden by your mess that I couldn’t even remember the purpose of them. Why do I have a calendar? What month even is it? I looked around and found a book underneath a pile of scraps you refuse to throw away. I didn’t even know how to turn the first page anymore.

I never told you about my escapade with the front door and all the confusion it caused afterwards, but later that same night I felt you watching me from the other side of the couch. I didn’t ask what was wrong because I figured that you’d tell me eventually anyway, and you did.

You told me you’re scared of me leaving and you’d follow me wherever I go. I was scared of being seen with you, so I decided I wouldn’t try going outside again, but the next day I realized you had already decided that for me when I woke up and saw that all the doors had been bolted shut.

You said the doors can never be opened again, because I can’t handle what’s behind them, and then I started to become afraid of what was behind them. What were you hiding? With both of us here and me spending my time taking care of you, the house became harder tpo maintain. You weren’t concerned with keeping this house healthy and together because your only intentions were to let it rot, and over time you accomplished this mission. You were all take and no give, and you left everything you touched broken with no regard. All the baggage you brought cluttered and blocked every hallway. I just pretended it wasn’t there. I mean, what was I gonna do? Clean it up for you? Where would I have even put it? There was no space. You never even opened any of these boxes or let me see inside them, but they’re so heavy and there are so many that you’ve begun hiding some in the vents. I saw them when I went to check why the heat wasn't coming through the vents after realizing I’d been shivering for days. I left them there, though, and it grew colder and colder in the house. The pipes couldn’t take the pressure, so they creaked, cried, and leaked until they burst through the ceiling and walls. The moisture seeped into everything and made the wooden framework of the house slowly decay like a paper boat sat in a pond. I could feel the slouching walls wanting to cave in on me, the sinking floors about to break and shatter down everything upon it. The lights flickered on and off and on and eventually off and never came back on again. In the darkness, your voice became so loud and the only thing left to focus on. In the darkness, I found an empty corner amidst the mess and debris where I sat and listened to you and silence taking turns inside my mind. Everyday I thought about getting up, leaving you and running far away from this house and what it’s become, but I was too scared to move. What if you try to stop me from leaving? What if the floor dissolves underneath my feet when I stand up again? What if its too dark to see anything and I end up lost somewhere worse than the corner I've just gotten so comfortable with?

At this point, I began resenting you for making the lovely home that once felt so safe so unrecognizable now, and all I could think about was how to get you out.