Goodbye, Forever Home

“Oh, it’s you,” Joanne said, recognizing the small face.

Her mind was a snake’s nest, preventing her from achieving sleep, which, now analyzing the atmosphere and present mood, was often when he appeared.

“You’re not going to go and leave me here all alone, are you?” The boy asked, turning his head slightly to the side.

She had welcomed this moment. The idea of leaving without saying goodbye was almost harder to stomach than her forced exodus, as the boy had been a part of her life for close to 6 years. He deserved a proper farewell.

“We have to. I’m sorry. We can’t stay anymore,” Joanne returned. Now sitting up in her canopied bed. Pushing the thick white and red quilt off her waist and into a triple layered heap on her feet, she could already begin to feel the warmth accumulating around her toes.

He did what he usually did, which was a combination of intently looking into her eyes while also completely ignoring her. She never fully understood it, and the explanation sounded unfounded the few times she dared speak it aloud, but that is exactly how it felt. Extreme intent and total ambivalence rolled into one glance.

The boy’s face was still as he looked through Joanne's eyes. He slowly turned and vanished into the quiet darkness of the room. Joanne, neither frightened nor scared, turned back over and fell asleep.

It had not been a dream, it never was. She had seen the boy throughout her home in many different places and at many different times of the day. Her children would occasionally catch a glimpse of his trail: a locked window left open, a misplaced toy, faint footsteps from the attic, but only Joanne had seen his face.

He had become one of the many reasons she loved her home, as the boy added to its unique charm. From its location, space, light, ambiance, and artist presence, the house was her true dream home. Even though it was erected nearly 70 years before her birth, it felt as if it was built specifically for her, as if the architect travelled forward in time to scrape the walls of her dreams for clues and inspiration. The house was located a short walk from the river, the sounds of rushing foam and crashing peaks were yet another benefit to her aching soul. The river provided a calming backdrop to Joanne’s increasingly sad life. She relied on the sound of the water so much that she often left her bedroom windows open in the winter, despite the frigid chill the wind would then carry inward.

The home was considered a Victorian, but Joanne had always hated the moniker.

Victorians are stuffy and old, she thought. Her home was bright, welcoming, and capped with numerous artistic flourishes that, even after spending years exploring the beautiful space, you could easily overlook them. Her children once attempted to count all the intricate carvings, ornately designed pieces of woodwork, and uniquely built embellishments that could be found both within and outside the home. The result was three wildly different numbers, followed by an argument on who was the better counter.

Joanne never counted nor wanted to know the answer. She loved being surprised by a new mark, shape of a doorknob, or slight deviation in the crown moulding that she had never noticed.

But now, she had to leave. For her children’s sake, she tried to keep her marriage together, but selfishly, it was also about the home. She knew she could never keep it on her own, and the phrase “amicable split” would not be applied to her separation. She was leaving and would never come back.

The boy had helped for a while. He kept her company and provided a presence when her husband’s side of the bed was left cold and empty. While they had never been able to converse, Joanne and the boy would exchange looks and the occasional unanswered question, although she was never sure if he actually heard her. The boy, present yet mysteriously vacant, made her lonely nights, small town embarrassment, and growing rage tolerable for a while, but as sure as she had ever been, her marriage was now over, and it was over for good.

She was 20 when she had gotten married, and had known Jim for just under 5 months. Her friends thought he was handsome, funny, and had great style, but despite her quick engagement, her first impression of the young man was far from complimentary.

Who drives a green car? She had thought to herself, watching Jim lean, with a cocksure attitude and muscular grace against the two seat, convertible coup. Also, why are his ears so big?

Despite the poor first impression, she was engaged, married, pregnant, and a first time homeowner less than one year after the encounter. She loved being married, a long time personal goal, and was tickled with joy when she got pregnant so quickly. But most of all, she had found her forever home.

She, of course, brought nothing but her smile and family baggage into the relationship. Jim’s frugal, penny pinching parents believed that if their children were to conquer this cruel and unpredictable world, they would require a head start. Thus, Jim brought with him not only his wandering eyes and green car, but also a sizable dowry that allowed the pair to start a business and put a down payment on the turn of the century abode.

The business, a small bakery that showcased Jim’s charm and Joanne’s knack for creating confectionery delights, had failed long ago. Initially successful, the Bridge St. storefront was a common stop after Sunday church, with lines regularly leading out the door and down the street; parishioners eager to take home a box of sugared donuts and strawberry creampuffs that were earmarked for Sunday night dessert. There was a time when Joanne believed she made a birthday cake for every single child in town, but once Jim’s extramarital activities became common knowledge, the line grew smaller and smaller. People would claim that they refused to patronize Jim’s business out of respect for Joanne, but in reality, conservative values dictated that public family drama is best kept at a distance.

She was devastated to lose the business, but leaving the home was unbearable. This was where she brought all three of her children home after the hospital. This was where they took their first steps. This was where they held their birthday parties and watched them laugh and play and sing.

It was also the place where she was slapped across the face for the first time. It was also where she first raised her voice to a man, and the first time she threatened someone with a chef’s knife clenched between taught fingers. For every good memory that home witnessed, there were 12 bad ones.

The next morning, Joanne prepared for her final goodbye. The kids were at her grandparents' home, and the moving truck was arriving in an hour. As she was taping up a final box in the living room, she heard the sound of slight tapping on her antique hardwood floors.

He was back. He looked dressed and ready to face the world, which she knew he was unable to do. He looked through her one last time, and then disappeared into the sun lit dust.

She pictured his face, and for a moment, she felt she had seen a look that she had never before seen from him…jealousy.

The house was a masterpiece, but she knew he was trapped, forced to wander the halls, stairways, and bedrooms in search of something, or someone, he would never find. She had felt that way for years, stuck in an unfaithful marriage with the eyes of the town watching and judging her downfall. When she knew it was time to leave, she was envious of the boy, a forever resident in her stolen dream.

Now, she felt pity.

It was time to move on. Standing on the porch of her home, looking at her front door, she felt a final wave of happiness, knowing that someone else would continue to enjoy the beautiful space she was forced to abandon.