For Sale

 

Each of the old wooden steps on the front porch was now permanently dipped in the center, worn from years of shoes scraping their weight, and each step as smooth as the banister that’s been polished from years of hands continually sliding its length north and south.

There were no doilies or sprayed fragrances that were going to cover up the age of this house.  It had been well lived in and would not hesitate to announce its history to every visitor through creaks and moans, adjusting its attic in the heat of the day, and taking a well-deserved breath in the cool of the evening.

Intentional nicks along the basement door marked each child’s height, while too many cooks were reflected in the battle scars of a chipped porcelain sink.   More than paint, music and laughter coated these walls for years.

To the new people in the neighborhood, it is just the old house that now sits empty on the corner lot.  People speculate on who might buy it, will they refurbish and remodel everything?  They only see it as outdated and in need of repair.

I had been inside, back when the family was still around.  I understood the slick banister and the front steps that now looked more like a horse’s saddle.  I can still hear the laughter and remember the stories told around the firepit in the backyard.  It was all alive back then and worth ten times what they’re asking for it now.

I expect the new owners will still find a few bottle caps around that firepit.  They’re not likely to understand that those caps were a part of the music, they were the punctuation in the stories and sadly now – the period at the end of a wonderful adventure.