Dinner was eaten around a table with a grey surface and
steel legs. Seven yellow chairs were filled with bottoms. The cupboards were
overflowing with mugs and worn plates. The highest shelves were reserved for
the expensive dishes and inherited heirlooms, too valuable to be used.
The sunroom was littered with tractors, dolls, Tonka trucks,
pistols, footballs and plastic jewellery.
The toy box was empty. The piano lid was left open with the music book
opened at the beginning of ‘Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star’.
Two peace lilies sat in the corner of the lounge room next
to the TV set, thriving with life. The blue hew and glow from the TV lit up the
leaves, their vibrancy similar to those who occupied the space. The couch
cushions were squashed into unrecognisable shapes, placed in a disorderly manner.
A basket of folded washing sat on the floor. The curtains were drawn back, a
stream of sun flowing over the carpet.
The windows overlooked the farm. The vastness of space was incomprehensible,
only roamed by black and white beasts. A perfectly straight line of pine trees
enveloped the left of house, protecting it from the wind, their aroma filled up
the air. An unruly mint plant tickled the exterior skirting boards. Never was
there silence. Drifting through the Stoney Rises was birds singing, rustle of
trees and grunt of a bull.
The door was a rich shade of blue, spots of paint flaked
away with the groan and strain of being opened and closed over the years. A
thin layer of dust always clung to the weatherboards from the misty shower the
milk truck left lingering behind.
The second eldest son moved just up the road when he was a
man. He married a woman, Suzanne and had four children. The door of his
childhood home was locked. The absence of fresh air made the rooms dampen with
must. The toys were put away, and the Peace Lily’s dried up, wilting into the
dirt.
Paul let his children play in the house, but he never
returned. They pretended that their grandparents still lived there. One summer,
the house was taken away, the children protested, but Paul told them it hurt
too much to have it there’ “Kids, it’s no longer a home, it’s just a house”.
The house had been sold to a property developer hours away.
Paul took his kids for a drive one day to find it, having a deep yearning to
know where it had ended up. They never found it. Paul wasn’t sure if he had
gone to the wrong place, or whether his childhood home was simply
unrecognisable. They searched for hours, becoming more disheartened as the time
passed.
“Lets go home, Paul.” Suzanne whispered. So they turned the
car around, leaving the house behind, and went home.
