Bobby was never the romantic, emotional type. That’s why I hauled him to the old house I planned to buy, and renovate. I knew he’d hate it. Knew he’d have nothing good to say about it.
Sure enough, he didn’t. “This place is in the middle of nowhere. You’ll have to pack an ice chest in the car to make a grocery run. Jesus, why would you do that?”
On the front porch, he’d stopped, and looked around, “And, you have allergies.” He waved his arm at the gorgeous trees all around, “You’re allergic to half of these you know!” We’d walked the length of the porch, and he’d commented on every board that made noise, “House has its own choir. At least no one would be able to rob you. The noise would wake you up.”
The downstairs walk-through had gone as well, filled with endless comments. “That staircase is a death trap. Look at that. Like it was made when Queen Cleopatra was around.” Followed by, “And the porch isn’t all that sings,” as we walked down the hallway to the Living Room. “And where would you put a big flat screen in this tiny space? This is no place to watch movies, or listen to music, and relax,” summed up his view of the Living Room.
The Dining Room drew more words from his brain cells, “What? They held banquets for the whole church in here? Listen!” He screamed, “It echoes!”
I didn’t feel like setting him off by telling him the wiring and plumbing were beyond repair, and I’d have to replace them. There was no point. I knew he’d simply spew more words into the air.
The kitchen got one word. “No.” He couldn’t even describe it, until we headed back toward the stairs, “That room is all wrong. No place for anything. No room for a dishwasher. No room for a microwave. Itty bitty counter space. No place to store anything. Only what, four cabinet doors in the entire kitchen?”
On the way up the stairs, he threatened to sue me if the stairs collapsed. “You’re risking my life, here!”
The upstairs went the same way the downstairs had. An endless stream of negative thoughts from him. An endless stream of all the things I already knew.
Especially when we reached the full sized bathroom. The toilet and tub were long gone. So were any visible pipes, having been stripped and likely sold as scrap metal. Copper pipes did have a good price on them, after all.
“Would you look at that window!” He had to know I’d already looked. “One big honking window! And it’s round! You can’t put a curtain on that, you know!” What was left of the bathroom sink hung off the wall right under that window. “And that’s where they put the sink? You can’t use a mirror that way!” He looked out that window, “And the whole world can see right in, and see whoever’s in here walking around naked! That’s such a great plan!”
I don’t know how, but somehow, I didn’t laugh as he rambled on about everything that was wrong.
Eventually, I’d seen enough of my future home, and wandered back to the car, with Bobby tagging along.
Never will forget what happened on that drive home. Took a few minutes, but Bobby finally stopped talking about the house, and got quiet. He didn’t say anything for a while, just stared out the window, and watched the trees go by. Until. Out of nowhere. “It’s the perfect house for you, isn’t it?”
I nodded. “I love it.”
“Let me know how I can help with the fix up, OK?”
“And, one more thing.”
“Thanks for bringing me along. Thanks for trusting me that much.”
I knew all along he’d understand. That’s why I’d wanted him to see the place.
Written in response to the prompt for week 161 of Miranda Kate‘s Mid-Week Challenge. You can learn about Miranda’s challenge here. The stories people share for the weekly challenge are always little works of art, crafted with words, meant to be shared, and enjoyed. Please go read them all.