Upon Our House - August 15, 2010

Now is the winter of our discontent
Made glorious summer by this son of York;
And all the clouds that low’r’d upon our house
In the deep bosom of the ocean buried
- Shakespeare's Richard the Third, Act 1 Scene 1

    The house stood finished, white and gleaming, on the tall hill. She stared at the white wooden panels and wondered just when the paint would peel or if when her hair turned grey, it would too.

    “Gorgeous, isn’t it?” he proclaimed, broadening his arms as if he were going to embrace an old relative; he walked toward the house. She stayed rooted to the ground with her hands holding down the scarf on her head, it threatened to loosen and dance away in the wind.

    “Yes…it is, of course.” she said quietly. He was feet from her, but so euphoric and probably dizzy with excitement, she was sure he hadn’t heard her through the pounding of his heart in his ears. Sometimes, perhaps when he was explaining something that excited him, if she was in close proximity to him she could hear it. That was how she knew if he was having nightmares, she could hear a quickening thump-thump-thump in the dead silence of night, lying next to him.

    She turned on her heel slowly to get a look at the view. From where she stood, the driveway curved all the way down the hill, disappeared in the steepness, then somehow met the long gravel road that led back to town. She had never been so far from home before.

    “They’ll be bringin’ the furniture later today.” she heard him shout to her. She wondered how her things would look inside this house. Her large dresser, would the bedroom be big enough? It would look crowded, surely. They would have to buy a new one. Sacrifices…she thought.

    “Come on, let’s go have a look.” he would take her by the hand and lead her inside. He would always do so.

    “Perhaps…we’ll have a housewarming party?” she said, tentatively squeezing his hand.

    “Once we’re settled, that’s a great idea.” he smiled. She paid close attention to the sound of the grass folding beneath their feet. “Your daddy would be proud, you know.”

    “Oh, yes…I know.” she said sadly. She felt a dull ache in her chest, an ache that she feared would stay there always…

    As they passed through the archway, he pulled her close to him and whispered in her ear. From the hollow of his neck she heard it; that thump-thump-thump.

    She would wait in silence, for this new house to become her home.

-Kortnee Tilson