Drop-Dead Date
Friday, January 29, 2010 at 8:40AM We sensed the change coming. We’d been waiting, willing it not to happen while it lurked in the shadows these past two years. Now it had: the drop-dead date was here. The old boy from the local Estate Agents hammered a ‘For Sale’ sign among the burst of pansies in our front borders, a roll up dangling from between his lips, without a thought for our future or feelings. While we died a little, knowing we were powerless to stop this change from happening.
Life carried on around us. The sun shone brightly, glimmering its warmth. The black birds chirruped. While in our garden tree branches sagged, the scent of roses diminished, and flowers drooped in despair. Wasps and butterflies murmured their discontent at the dwindling pollen and flew on by.
Above us, dense grey clouds began to appear, floating up from the chimney, puffing out our upset. Whilst the Cotswold stone, which warms and protects us, paled visibly under the shock. Our inner wiring sparked then faded. Windows misted, and damaging cracks seeped across walls like wildfire. While I, the foundation of the house, buckled and quivered beneath our grief.
Lost in our thoughts, we strived to remember a different time, the day our family had arrived. How overjoyed they had been to find us, even though back then, we were a mass of bare floorboards and chipped walls, our internal wires disconnected.
‘Oh Simon, I love it,’ Lindy gushed as they ambled around, their voices echoing within our hollowness.
We held our breath.
Simon wrapped his arms around his new wife. ‘I do too. Let’s call the estate agents and put an offer in.’
‘Our first home,’ Lindy whispered.
And so, we came alive again.
Over the months Simon and Lindy sprinkled laughter throughout our rooms, gently restoring and teasing our neglected shell back to life. Allowing us to feel pride, to disregard the belief that we were worthless.
Soon we began to blossom. They fixed the internal wiring. Our walls were smooth and colorful once more. The floorboards sanded and varnished. Velvet curtains hung from the windows, antique tables and chairs sat proudly in our rooms, and a freshly painted summerhouse sat nestled snugly in the garden.
We were a home at last; we had become whole.
Over the years, Simon’s office became a nursery when Benjamin was born, and the spare room the same when Samantha followed. How we loved to have the children run amongst us, hiding within our nooks and crannies. We thrived within their squeals of laughter, enjoying the contented peacefulness on their faces when they returned home in their parents arms to our welcome embrace. We braved their growing tantrums at bedtime, smiled patiently at smudgy handprints pressed against us, and happily faded beneath Lindy’s bleaching wipes.
In our contentment, we didn’t see trouble looming.
We noticed their increasing arguments, but told ourselves with Lindy back at work and Simon traveling more, it was understandable. Month after month the shouting increased, doors slammed more frequently, and the children tiptoed around. We did our best to protect them; we shone and bloomed, and kept ourselves healthy. But it was pointless. They no longer noticed us.
Eventually we lost them: Simon moved out.
Lindy stayed behind with Benjamin and Samantha, and we tried to comfort them. But gradually, we lost them too. Now they moved around with pale faces and sad eyes – while we struggled, living with the knowledge that we simply hadn’t been enough.
‘We need to sell the house,’ Simon said on one of his visits. ‘I’ve contacted the estate agent and my solicitor. They’ll be in touch.’
The solicitors letter arrived, bringing with it the news that our joy over the years had become our irony. Our value and worth had risen. All the time, love and energy they had invested in us had made us valuable and now neither Simon nor Lindy could afford to buy the other out.
Simon arrived one evening, looking disheveled and tired. ‘We can’t go on like this,’ he said.
Lindy frowned. ‘I know. We need to make a decision.’
‘The solicitor suggested this thing, a drop-dead date.’
‘A what date?’
‘A drop-dead date.’ Simon paused. ‘Apparently, it’s for situations like ours. If we can afford to pay the mortgage a couple more years, we wait and make a decision then.’
‘Two years is a long time.’
‘What other choice do we have? We won’t get a good price if we sell now and if you stay here, it’s better for the children. Then, if neither one can afford to buy the other out, or nothing’s changed, we’ll have to sell.’
Lindy gazed around, as if assessing us. ‘Then I guess that’s what we’ll do.’
So we waited, stuck in this sea of uncertainty. The children grew, becoming unruly. Simon rarely visited, and Lindy cried less. While we faded a little more each day, still dreaming that they would come back to us, to those who loved them, as they had once loved us.
We sensed the change coming before it arrived. Now we had become the battleground, invaded with boxes, the comforting smell of our family vanishing beneath the all-enveloping power of bleach. And Simon and Lindy stalked around packing, cleaning and closing us.
Whilst we watch and wait, our tree branches sag, flowers wilt, the internal wiring sparks and I, the foundation, begin to shudder, crumbling with the ache we feel inside.
Finally, the last boxes are sat beside the front door. The curtains are drawn closed and our lights dimmed one final time.
They survey us, remembering happier times.
Simon shrugs. ‘So, I guess that’s that.’
‘Yes,’ Lindy says, blinking away tears. ‘That’s that.’
He closes our front door and turns the key. Lindy trails fingertips along the rise and fall of our Cotswold stone. They glance sorrowfully at us one last time, each saying a silent farewell.
Good-bye, we say, and then they are gone.
Reader Comments (14)
This made me tear up. You told the story very well from the home's point of view, and made the foundation a real and sympathetic character. I wish the family had stayed. And I even hope the next family puts as much love into the place.
Lovely, thanks for sharing.
Very creative take on the dissolution of a marriage, love, and home.
Well done!
And welcome to #fridayflash...
We pour so much of our lives into our homes, yet rarely realize what our homes pour into us. Touching and sad, yet very beautiful. Very well done.
Welcome to #fridayflash Melanie.
A poignant dissolution here. The hope and sorrow compressed like this hit powerfully home, made me think. This is good. I enjoyed this description too:
"...Above us, dense grey clouds began to appear, floating up from the chimney, puffing out our upset."
And I'm not sure I've ever read a story narrated by the foundations of a house! Inventive stuff.
Really, truly, a beautiful story (sniffle).
An achingly beautiful love letter to a sense of place. Loved the family disappearing in bleach.
Welcome to friday flash.
Welcome to FridayFlash.
Nice tale, good expression. I've read another house perspective story in Weird Tales, it had less dialogue, more melancholy, and dragged on too much. I like the brevity here, and stronger emotion.
Welcome, Melanie. I really liked your story. I have to admit I was a little confused in the beginning when "we" switched to "they" but as I read on I understood the POV and felt the sadness.
When I first read the title I expected something completely different -- a first date or a murderous dating situation. This was a pleasant surprise. Titles can be so deceiving, which is what makes them so important.
Good job!
Hi Melanie, This is a wonderful debut for FridayFlash. It's so heart-felt and touching. I enjoyed the story and your telling of it. Such an unique approach on POV, as well.
Welcome to FridayFlash! ~ Olivia Twitter: @SimplyOlivia
I really enjoyed the point of view on this as well. The house sounded so comfortable and nice. Writing had great flow and I enjoyed it all.
Wonderfully done! The rise and fall of a family from the foundation's point of view. You made me feel sorry for the house. :)
Welcome to #fridayflash!
Now I feel like my house is watching me....
Welcome to Friday Flash
Hi Mel, nice story! As I was reading I was hoping against hope that waiting for the drop-dead date would bring the family together again. But I suppose you're right, it is a better story if they don't. Still, we always hope for a happy ending. And I think it will come for the house, in the form of a new family.
A very enjoyable - though sorrowful - read
Weclome to #fridayflash!