Home To None

Home To None

As I approached the deserted house at the end of the road, I saw something unexpected: a living house; home to none. The house had not changed since my last visit before. The yard was overgrown and the curtains were closed, but the house itself remained laudable. This was, but of course, only in appearance. I knew what darknesses lied within the estate. With procrastinated steps, I finally reached the door. When I willed my arm to leverage a knock, an emotional collapse hit the remnants of my soul but again. No structure nor organ may live through such abuse as my soul went through on that very day. Defining life to live, I had to break before losing all sanity. The door opened and I lost what had carried me there. I lost feeling. I saw the face of a girl much younger than I (ten if memory serves). She resembled past memories. Before, she was there for everything. Now, we come together for nothing. Though we were obviously of different appearance, we were destined to be twins once I joined her and the others which remained in the empty house. With this in mind, I entered.

How does someone describe the scene of a disaster after it is all over? Maybe like this. It is never over. There is no healing; no pleasurable perspective; nothing. Within that house, I found four bodies. Heartless, they breathed, but without justification or reason. No challenge like finding a reason when you have lost the cause. Hollow greetings were exchanged and the solemnness continued. Our visitations used to be awkward, but things changed that day. No longer was there reason for such a childish atmosphere.

The mother was gone. She broke and, to this day, has yet to recover. After a brief hug, I knew she was uninhabited. She was a body without a soul. She was as close to death as she could be without asking for a casket. In this moment, my feelings began to come back to me. Honestly, the first feeling I felt was fear. No way was I going to hollow myself out and become her mirror. It beat slow, but mingy emotions began to discharge from where I used to have a heart.  

Some time later, the father sat with me and shed a tear I was able to match. Something about seeing that tear attached me to his eyes and temporarily removed me from the room. His eyes lost structure. All I could see were sparks, but not like the ones that fly between star-crossed lovers. This story is about an ending. Not a beginning. His eyes sparked of desperation. He needed a fire to survive, but all he had were struggles. In these struggles, I saw his questions he refused to ask. All I had were the same questions and cliche sentiments.

The two sisters were exhausted. It was quite evident they had not slept well that harrowing week. The parents lacked sleep, but possessed a natural maturity for handling the deprivation. The sisters lacked the mental discipline to know their physical limits. Interestingly enough, though tired, they were the best suited to handle their tragedy. Old enough to remember certainties, but young enough to properly continue developing their lives. Parents do not have this opportunity. Parents are old enough to remember every second. Losing a life you have created and raised is simply an unhealable wound.

This family lost a caring daughter; an older sister. You may now be wondering why I am writing this story. They were not the only ones to lose somebody important that treacherous day.  

Some hours later, the mother and daughters went to bed. Beer now in hand, I had a conversation (with the father) that was undeniably personal, but necessary. The thing worth mentioning is he told me what I needed to hear. His comment was what I needed to continue my life. Though beautiful, I keep his comment for myself and for those who share my previous experiences. Not for the attentive eyes of a wondrous reader. The father then continued eventually offering me something terrifying: a room. Not any room though. He offered me her room. Perhaps he was too exhausted to see how that may be weird. Maybe he was a little too intoxicated. Maybe he thought I needed that moment to myself. I do not know. No matter though fore I reflexively accepted his offer. I wanted to see our room one last time.

It is quite easy to remember an emotion, but to remember touching something is unimaginable. Yet, I remember touching the doorknob to that bedroom. The desolateness I thought I had felt before was nothing compared to my hand grasping the misleading handle. Trembling as it may have been, my hand maneuvered until the task was accomplished.

I took a breath; the first of the week. I still hold that breath with me today. Memories began to dominate my mind.

I remembered our first encounter. She was leaning on a tree ten feet from me and, though the festival was extremely busy, I could feel her presence. We made eye contact and I immediately felt this undeniable attraction for her. She reeled me in; caught me. That day, I smiled as if I was the happiest person at the festival and I was not even drunk. She intoxicated me with her cute, quirky ways. There is no greater high nor is there a worse hangover.

I remembered our first shared lemonade. I hate lemonade, but did not want to deny the opportunity to share a drink with such a beautiful girl so I shared it with her. I would argue that at least half of the things we did together either made me uncomfortable or disgusted me. No matter, our times together were unforgettable.

I then remembered when I found out she was sick. Finding out brought a smirk to my face. Can you believe that? I was in absolute denial over the whole situation. Why would I not be in denial? By then, I knew I was in love with the girl. The emotions I perceived for her felt undefeatable. At least, this is what I thought until I saw her eyes after she told me about her inherent fate. She looked on me with a constant gaze. Never will I find more terrifyingly honest eyes. I lost myself in her. Once of love and once of loss. We would get to see each other four more times in those remaining weeks. Then, her grand finale came early. And I was alone.   

All of these memories and it dawned on me I no longer had somebody to share them with. She left my life as quickly as she entered it. She deserted me; her family; even her house. Without her, that building was only brick. Her room was only a shrine. My heart was only another muscle. The last thing I realized was, when I got home a few days later, my house was no different than her family’s. Without her in my life, my house was home to none.