FOUR HOUSES

Part 4

2 HOURS AFTER THE INCIDENT

This is the first house I've approached. I didn't pick it for any particular reason. But now that I'm standing on the porch, I'm not sure what to do. I run my hand over the blue door and wonder if I should knock. It seems only natural. Out of curiosity, I try the door knob. It's locked. So I fill my lungs, raise my hand, and rap twice.

After a brief moment, the door slides open. Standing on the other side is a guy with a polo shirt and khaki shorts. His hair is shorn and he wears black-framed glasses. I half expect a stack of books to be in his arms. He grins when he sees me. It's a genuine smile, one that sweeps from ear to ear.

He holds his hand out, and part of me wants to take it. But something about this is too easy. I glance over his shoulder, then step backward on the porch and motion for him to come outside. My mother would kill me for entering a stranger's home.

My mother. A lump forms in my throat.  

The guy moves toward me, but something stops him. It's as if there's an invisible barrier trapping him there. Something horrible occurs to me: What if I will be trapped too? The word read choose. And now I realize how carefully I must do that.

I eye the guy more closely. He seems gentle, caring. But what of the house? I nod for him to step aside, hoping this is an option. Without hesitation, the guy moves from my view. Inside the house are walls lined with old books. Several lamps stand near worn slip chairs, and a fire roars in the hearth. My eyes linger on the flame. It doesn't burn red or orange or even yellow. It burns blue, and the effect is hypnotic.

People lounge in the pale-colored slip chairs, reading books or speaking in hushed voices. They seem happy. My mouth curls into a hesitant smile when I imagine spending my days here. Everything about it seems relaxed.

The guy appears in the doorway again, and again he offers me his hand. I consider taking it. Truly, I do. But there's something I want to test first. Before I lose my nerve, I step across the threshold and back out again. Nothing stops my retreat. I decide this means I can come and go from the houses as I please while the current occupants cannot. I'm not sure I totally understand this, but it's enough for me to accept the boy's invitation.

He takes my hand, and his skin is warm. It suddenly feels like the field I came from was entirely too cold, but now that's over. Now I am here. The other people in the room don't glance up from their activities. A couple who could be brother and sister sit on cushions and play a game of chess while a different girl sits cross-legged in a chair, a novel spread wide across her lap. An orange cat crosses the area and leaps onto a coffee table. It looks at me, meows once, twice. No sound leaves its mouth.

The hairs on the back of my arms rise as I realize the people who I thought were whispering earlier aren't making any noise at all. Their mouths are moving, but there's not a sound to be heard. It's as if all noise has been banned inside this place.

The boy motions me toward the back of the house and I follow him, our footsteps silent along the aged wood floors. There's a stained glass window in the front room where moonlight pours through, mingling with lamp light. Now that illumination vanishes behind us. Up ahead is a stronger light, and I shade my eyes from the sudden change.

Together we spill into a kitchen with one long dining table, grey granite countertops, and white cabinets. There's a blue backsplash under oak cabinets that I can't look away from. The boy pulls out a chair for me like a gentleman and waves a hand toward the seat. I take it and he helps me scoot my legs beneath the table.

My eyes tear away from the blue kitchen tiles when I pick up on a soft humming. The sound seeps through my ears and wraps itself around my heart. It feels incredible to hear something, anything. A woman stands over the sink, though I'm certain she wasn't there a moment ago. She's large with a heavy bosom. I can tell these things even with her back to me. A yellow dress with white flowers drapes over her large frame, and her greying hair is braided down her back. I watch her forearms work a dish in soapy water. They are the color of caramel melted under a summer sun.