The Yellow House by The Church (2/28/15)
The outside of the house seemed promising enough. It was on a street in a small town called Alexandria, only a block away from one of the seventeen churches. The street’s houses were a bit close together, not leaving much room for a yard, just enough space for a small garden. There were two stories to the house and its yellow siding and white trim was inviting enough. There were even two sets of steps, one wooden and one stone, all leading up to the same stone porch. From the street, the house looked average for a small town.
Move a bit closer and stand in the miniscule front yard and it was clear that some things were a bit off. The house set at a slight angle, as did both sets of stairs. There was a wooden board nailed to a small part of the house where the siding had fallen off. The grass was long, probably because the house hadn’t been lived in for a bit of time. Even the bricks in the sidewalk were raising their heads and jutting out at weird angles. But one must remind themselves that in a small town, such things were commonplace.
We were ushered into the house, my crutches sliding slightly over a cracked marble imbedded in the cement porch. The screen door didn’t quite close properly but this was our new home. The would-be living room had plush chocolate brown carpet and the walls were supposed to be white. They had taken on a yellowed tinge due to either age or a previous owner smoker. It wouldn’t make much difference - my dad had the same distasteful habit. The stairs were only a few feet before us and a little to the right, they were steep and intimidating to a child with cerebral palsy. However, the carpeting was a promise of a decreased likelihood in getting hurt. Directly across the stairs was a bathroom with a few cracked tiles and a broken doorknob. To the left of the stairs was a kitchen with warped wooden floors that smelled of old spaghetti sauce and remnants of garlic. From the kitchen, you could exit through another rickety door, its white paint chipping. This was home, I had to remind myself. I knew we wouldn’t be there long, and I was certainly thankful that I wouldn’t have to learn to love this place.