I went to the house,(she said, as he tended the fire, turning the yams in the coals and stirring the pot in which his fish stew bubbled)I went to the house,(she said, resting up from the long flight she’d flown from Toronto to Craig’s distant, warm shores, far away from Kensington Market and Krishna and Billy and Danny)I went to the house,(she said, and Andy worked hard to keep the grin off his face, for he’d been miserable during her long absence and now he could scarcely contain his delight)I went to the house, and there was no one home. I had the address you’d given me, and it was just like you’d described it to me, down to the basketball hoop in the driveway.It was empty. But it was as I’d remembered it. They’d lived there. I’d lived there. You were right, that was the house.That was the house I’d lived in. I rang the doorbell, then I peeked in through a crack in the blinds. The rooms were empty. No furniture. Just blinds. It was night, and no one was looking, so I flew up to the third floor, to the window I’d stared out all those times.The window was unlatched, and I slid aside the screen and let myself in. The room was empty. No carpet. No frilly bed and stuffed animals. No desk. No clothes in the closet, no hangers.The only thing in the room was a small box, plugged into the wall, with a network cable snaking away into the phone jack. It had small lights on it, blinking. It was like the one you’d had in your attic. A wireless access point.I remembered their names, then. Oliver and Patricia. They’d been my mother and father for a few years. Set me up with my first apartment. This had been their house.I slept there that day, then, come nightfall, I set out again to come home to you.
I went to the house,
(she said, as he tended the fire, turning the yams in the coals and stirring the pot in which his fish stew bubbled)
I went to the house,
(she said, resting up from the long flight she’d flown from Toronto to Craig’s distant, warm shores, far away from Kensington Market and Krishna and Billy and Danny)
I went to the house,
(she said, and Andy worked hard to keep the grin off his face, for he’d been miserable during her long absence and now he could scarcely contain his delight)
I went to the house, and there was no one home. I had the address you’d given me, and it was just like you’d described it to me, down to the basketball hoop in the driveway.
It was empty. But it was as I’d remembered it. They’d lived there. I’d lived there. You were right, that was the house.
That was the house I’d lived in. I rang the doorbell, then I peeked in through a crack in the blinds. The rooms were empty. No furniture. Just blinds. It was night, and no one was looking, so I flew up to the third floor, to the window I’d stared out all those times.
The window was unlatched, and I slid aside the screen and let myself in. The room was empty. No carpet. No frilly bed and stuffed animals. No desk. No clothes in the closet, no hangers.
The only thing in the room was a small box, plugged into the wall, with a network cable snaking away into the phone jack. It had small lights on it, blinking. It was like the one you’d had in your attic. A wireless access point.
I remembered their names, then. Oliver and Patricia. They’d been my mother and father for a few years. Set me up with my first apartment. This had been their house.
I slept there that day, then, come nightfall, I set out again to come home to you.