Whose Home
I was shocked, didn’t know what to expect but how could I know what I would see, remember, walking back, no sneaking back in time, lost, but here I am. Just stood there, paralyzed? Yes, but I continue to stand in front of what I think was my childhood home. No. I know it was. I checked the dangling street sign. Yes, that is the right street but nothing about what I saw was correct. My old home was then a child’s home but now it stood behind a rusty iron gate.
No one was on the street as I stared at the house that seemed to violate my memory, my imagination of the distant past.
The windows are intact. No lights are on. Who lives there now. Looks abandoned but maybe not and if so do they know the history of their home.
Should I have comeback to look around, to look at my past, to look at what was then that still remained in my memory and that made me shudder. Maybe I shouldn’t have retuned. Why did I?
I walk slowly past the iron gate towards my old house and that is when I suddenly hear screams, boots rushing down the street, shouts, and people I knew then trying to hide, and now, now what. So long ago. Do I want to go back to that time. Reminder. Should I try to find a place to hide and escape the house that stands rigid and alone in front of me. Escape. But to where and how can I make that happen? Maybe I shouldn’t have returned to this place.
It is late afternoon in early October and most of the leaves are on the ground, wet, and glistening, from the earlier rain. I start to walk towards the front door when I see an old man walking by. He looks at me and asks, “Can I help you? His regional accent is familiar and I answer in the same accent. “Just curious about this house. Who lives here now or is it empty.” The old man looks at me carefully before answering. “Not now. The last owners left about a year ago and it still hasn’t been sold. Now it stands empty and is used sometimes by kids who smoke pot in the living room and enjoy each other’s company in other ways, especially when it is raining or cold outside. “
“The house seems so familiar and so do you think anyone would mind if I went inside and looked around.”
The old man again looked me over before answering. I guess no one would care and anyway you might be a potential buyer. Right?”
I answered, “No not in a buying way just curious.”
He said, “If you like I can come inside with you. I too am curious how it looks now after some many months without occupants. I have lived down the next street all my life. It is the same house that my parents owned way back when. Never knew the people who lived in this house recently. In this village everyone knows everyone and by the way, what brings you here and what is your name?
My name is Bernd, Bernie in America and I came wondering about possible connections to the town, connections that were severed many decades ago.
The old man nodded and said, “Welcome back to the village, and is it welcome back or something else?”
We walked together towards the front door. It wasn’t locked. I noticed that the outside of the limestone outer frame of the front door had a discolored small rectangle high up on the right side of the doorway. I knew what that was but didn’t say anything about it. Didn’t want to do that.
We stepped into the living room which was covered in a dingy grey light and smelled moldy. In the middle of the living room stood an oversized stained cloth couch and scattered about were several deep seedy wing chairs. Facing the front door was a fireplace with an old plaster of Paris plaque mounted on top. The lettering and emblem were mostly gone. I smiled when I could smell the residual of pot in the air.
I walked out of the living room leaving the old man sitting on one of the easy chairs in the living room. Somehow, I guessed where the kitchen was and next to it a pantry. I looked out the kitchen window searching for what I thought might be a small shed in the back yard. Wild guess…might that at one time also served as a rabbit hutch.
I walked back into the living room and asked the old man, “Was there once a shed in the backyard?”
He looked surprised and answered, “Yes but how would you have known that and by the way who are you? What is going on here? Why the interest in this old house? Did you come here with some purpose, a personal purpose and more than just curiosity? Am I right?
I nodded and then we left the house together and the old man said good bye and went on his way.