The House of Wonders

Most of my childhood memories aren't clear. I couldn't even tell you how old I was that day, though I would guess five or six. And I can’t recall how we got there; if Mother had purchased that old Pontiac yet, or if we’d taken the bus. But from the moment we stepped onto the property, my memory is alive. I am there, fully, counting the bricks of the walkway as I place my feet squarely inside of them, Mother at my side guiding me briskly towards the emerald green front door. I shifted my gaze upwards as we neared the steps, absorbing the enormity of the structure, feeling diminished in comparison.

I watched a bee on the roses surrounding the entryway as Mother rang the bell. It buzzed away as footsteps approached, and the door swung open. I was hit with the fragrance of lemongrass and tobacco smoke, intoxicated with unfamiliarity, and felt that there was something special about this place. Mother stiffly hugged the man who answered, her yellow skirt rustling against my shoulder as she did. Then, he addressed me.

“Well, hello there. It's a pleasure to finally meet you”. Gazing upon his face, I was struck by the gentle ease with which he pushed his glasses up his nose. I clutched at Mother as he crouched down to my level. I noticed his eyes were as green as the emerald front door, as green as the plastic army men I had stashed inside my pocket, as green as my own. He held out his palm and I took it, his large hand firmly guiding the handshake. “I don't know if you know this, but I’m your grandfather; though I wouldn't much enjoy being called grandpa, so why don’t you just call me Benjamin?”. Never having heard an adult tell me to call them by their first name before, I felt an alarmed confusion; he watched my expression, bemused, and his smile grew wider below his thick white moustache, until he erupted into bellowing laughter. He wiped a tear from his eyes; Mother tapped my shoulder and chastened, “Well? Aren't you going to tell him your name?”. Through my panic, I grasped for my voice. “Isaiah”, I whispered. “Sorry, you're going to have to speak up; though I don’t feel it, I’m getting older, and my hearing is not what it once was”. “Isaiah”, I repeated, slightly more bravely. “Well, welcome Isaiah” he said as he retreated, gesturing inside the home, inviting us in.

As I crossed over the foyer, I was overcome by emotions that I still cannot adequately articulate. The closest I have come is that it felt like the hollow sense one feels when they finish a book they know will leave a dog ear mark on a page of their soul forever. A sensation of fullness, paired with a twinge of longing. Gratitude and wonder coupled; dancing together like lovers through my chest, my breath a metronome as they swirled and swayed together.

I was astounded by each room; feeling like a guest on a tour of the most fascinating museum I could imagine. I moved cautiously, afraid any stray footstep might cause the house to vanish; a playing card castle that would flutter to the ground with the smallest breeze. Every piece of furniture, artwork, instrument and knickknack had an origin story. The blue velvet chaise on the left of the living room hearth, with its intricately carved mahogany legs, came from France. The portrait of the weeping widow hanging above the parlor table, brought from Italy. The gilded bronze tiger, perched atop the stairs, hailed from India. As we walked, Benjamin spoke of his travels, the people he had known and loved, and his endless adventures. It seemed impossible that one man could squeeze so much into one life. Despite my reservation, I felt truth in his words. I yearned to know more.

I was deprived of the chance to learn. Mother finished up, ushered me out, and it was over. I recall asking after him some time later. Mother replied in the manner I was more familiar with than the one she had used at Benjamin's house; curt, and callous. “We won't be visiting or speaking of him again, Isaiah.” I knew she meant it; I’d heard that tone, seen that look before.

Over years, I thought of him frequently; that day a cherished record on repeat. I tried to find him, but only knowing his first name I got nowhere. Until one day, crisp Autumn leaves falling, I received a letter written by Benjamin's attorney, informing me of his passing. He sent his sterile condolences, informing me I was the sole heir to his estate. For the second time in my life, the dancers took up their swaying to my breath.

I quickly sorted my affairs, packed my belongings and drove to The House of Wonders- the title I had assigned it in my many years of journaling my reflections on its majesty within the pages of my black moleskin notebook. I was departing without any sense of loss. It's not as if I had much to leave behind besides my cramped basement apartment. I hadn’t spoken to Mother in years, and I had no friends save the ones I conjured in the books I wrote. But I could write anywhere.

I arrived just before sundown. It was exactly as I remembered it, and as I retraced my steps up the brick pathway to the emerald green door, I silently mourned the relationship that could have been. That first night, I quietly glided from room to room, feeling like an outsider in someone else's mind. In the living room, I started a fire, and fell asleep on the blue velvet chaise. When the morning sun shone through the window, rousing me, I opened my eyes, certain I was still dreaming. But as my thoughts settled in harmony with the house, I shook the sleep from my body to begin sorting through all of Benjamin's belongings.

I chose to work from the top down, and climbed the attic stairs. In stark contrast to the rest of the home it was empty, with the exception of a large tattered chest. I crept forward, dust plumes erupting from the floor as I stepped. I knelt and opened the latch. As the dust settled, I began to examine the contents. I removed stacks of photographs and an old cigar box, before heading downstairs to examine them.

Folded neatly inside the cigar box was a letter, addressed to me. I turned its pages in disbelief. Within my hands, was the truth of how one man could live so many lives. He explained the keys to his success- and now they were mine. He lamented the difficulties between himself and Mother, stemming from her inability to accept reality as it is; never realizing her own power. He reminisced about our encounter, admitting that dancers had swayed within his chest as well, and that he knew someday this knowledge would end up where it belonged, with me. I relaxed knowing the blind faith I had felt surrounding him was finally validated. I turned the pages, and let each word sink deeper into my consciousness, I understood what I had to do.

Opposite the blue velvet chaise in the living room, was a writing desk. I reached for my black notebook, and I began to write. Time became irrelevant until it was finished. My manuscript. I peeled myself from the leather cushion of the desk chair, and took what felt like my first real breath. The rest of the day is a blur, lost in disorientation from sleep deprivation. Despite that, I felt more energized than ever tearing the pages from the book, and sealing them in a manilla envelope addressed to my publisher. I walked the brick path to the entrance of the estate, and gently placed it in the mailbox; releasing it into the world as one would a dove- my own symbol and recognition of the existence of unconditional love, and my commitment to it.

A few days later I was in the kitchen, sorting the china when the ringing telephone began reverberating through the house. I picked it up; my publisher, Grace, greeted me. “Isaiah!”, she exclaimed. “Grace!” I replied, “I wasn't expecting a call so quickly”. “Well, this book... Isaiah, I couldn’t put it down”. I processed her words as she continued, “I believe what you’ve come across is… revolutionary. You would’ve heard from me sooner, but I needed time to absorb it. Since I finished, nothing about my life feels the same. I’ve found myself... submerged within the incredible lightness of being. I realized that somewhere within your words I had completely surrendered all of the fear I’ve ever known.. it took me a moment to find my voice again. I was speechless”. I smiled so wide she could probably hear it. “Well.. I’m happy to have helped. It was inspired by my grandfather, Benjamin. I shared the lessons he left behind for me when he passed within the pages of the text”.

Grace fell quiet. “I’m terribly sorry for your loss.. I don't know if you’ve realized this yet but he left you far more than lessons. He left you a legacy. We’re prepared to offer you a publishing deal, the largest I’ve ever offered”. I clutched at the phone, astonished. “We’re offering a forty thousand hardcover print run… with an immediate twenty thousand dollar payout”. Frozen, there was no sound coming or going through the receiver, but I heard the music of Benjamin's bellowing laughter emanating from my own mind.

“Now, I know that might not sound like much, but that would just be the advance keeping you on retainer as we edit and prepare for print. The rest would come later”. “The rest?” I managed to choke out. Grace laughed. “Well yeah, silly. When we’re ready to publish, you’ll receive the second half of your payout, and begin to receive royalties once it hits the shelves”. I stood there, fighting to keep my balance, transported back to the front steps, encompassed by the pressure to dig inside of myself and find my voice. “I don’t know what to say”.

She laughed again, her warm sweetness easing my shoulders and thoughts. “That’s completely understandable. Like I said… your grandfather left you a legacy. I believe in this project. This book will change lives. In fact it already has.. It changed mine. And clearly, it's changing yours”. “Thank you, Grace. Thank you so much”. “Isaiah..”, her voice as calm as the end of a storm, “I should be thanking you. Now, perhaps this was a bit forward of me, but I actually already had your contract drawn up. Shall I send it to your email? You’ll receive direct deposit of your advance when we get the signed copy back”. “Yes”, I stammered, “absolutely. Email’s great. Thank you again”. “As I said”, she answered, “Thank you. Your Grandfather too, wherever he is. I’ll send that email momentarily”. “Sounds good, take care Grace” I said softly, still reeling as she said goodbye. I set down the phone, leaned back against the wall, and slid my way down to the floor where I sat, entranced, until like the hypnotist’s bell, the chime of the incoming email message on my tablet roused me back to reality.

Sitting at the kitchen table filling out the paperwork, and sending it back, I could still hear Benjamin’s laugh in my mind. I stayed there, staring out the bay window, emotions cartwheeling through me. Another chime, alerting me to the deposit; the largest I’d ever received. I felt Benjamin was sitting beside me, and he may very well have been, congratulating and reassuring me that from the time our green eyes met- he knew I was the emissary he needed to share the keys to unbridled joy and success that he had found with the world.