Home. July 26th, 2016. Wind blew on my long nappy hair on a chilly Tuesday afternoon. It was not too cold, but cold enough to use long sleeved shirts. As I stood in front of a bright red home, I was captivated. The home had a beautiful color scheme. Although the windows were cracked, the glossy brownish-blackish roof matched with the home’s fense. The color stood out from the other basic brown-colored homes around the neighborhood. None of them matched the beauty of the one that stood right before me. My friends always talked about the home. They’d describe the beauty of it, but never had the guts, will or determination to live inside the home. Some tried, but their intentions were never to stay. As I walked towards the gates that surrounded the home, I noticed a maroon colored chain. It broke apart by the touch of my finger tips.
The gate flung open like a loose flower going wherever the wind took it. As I welcomed myself inside, I was skeptical.”What if the home is too much for me? What if I cannot do what I plan to do?” I thought to myself as I walked up the old wooden cracking steps. As I got up the porch, thoughts of regret hit me like the odor of my shoes after practice on a hot July summer. Over thinking like a man with regrets, determined like a man with opportunities. I grabbed the warm door knob. As I opened the door, slowly but surely, I got a scent from the home that I could never forget. The smell of recently made cookies, cake and bread hugged my body like a mother would hug his son that just came back from college. It was a strange scent but it was mesmerizing. “I’ll love to smell this scent every day.” I told myself. A long dark hallway stood in front of me. The only sign of light was what burst through the window. The olive colored walls were torn down, destroyed. The ceiling was leaking. Pieces of wall and ceiling were scattered around the wooden floors. It was a mess; but it was going to be my mess.
The living room had a fire place. Remaining ashes of the old owner were still left. The windows were cracked as well, but they were not broken; just like the rest of the house. From cleaning up the pieces of wall and ceiling from the roof, to clearing out the ashes from the fire place and starting my own fire; the time I spent on organizing the home were always my daily highlights. I started to bring in red and white flowers and placed them all around the home. Windows were fixed now as well; the home started to feel like one now. The bright red outer color became brighter to my eyes. The bakery scent became stronger. The flowers from outside and inside the home became taller. My love for the home became stronger.. Months went by, days flew past. The fire in the fireplace was at it highest peak.
It was December but it felt like a June. I could not ask for anything better. Sometimes, home does not have to be a house. Sometimes, age does not define the understanding of love. The best things in life are not always prepared. Home will always be with her. July 18. 2016.
