The Baby Blue House

A dilapidated powder blue house—the paint peeling, the wooden steps weathered and slightly sunken. Not a bad home, just a forgotten one. A faded white picket fence lined the overgrown lawn, keeping it from overflowing into the street.

No one lived in the house. It just sat there, unaccompanied, fading away.

Standing alone on the sidewalk was a tall daughter with windswept caramel hair and a long yellow raincoat that went down to her knees. Her face was small with delicate features, and freckles sprinkled her face like soft rain. As she observed the house, her eyes were drawn to the shutters, still the porcelain white they once were, the one part of the house that even time could not touch. The wind swept through the house shaking it from the inside. With every gust, the shutters threaten to open, exposing the lonely room she once sat in years ago. 

It was a cold day—when the house was still a soft baby blue—but it was not the kind of cold that makes it hard to wear jeans. It was the kind of cold that makes the air so pure that when you breathe it in it exhilarates your lungs filling them with clean cut air. The fog was thick in the early morning like an ominous blanket, and a girl by the name of Franny sat on the steps of the baby blue house watching the fog creep along the ground. The same girl with soft rain freckles and caramel hair, only this time, she wore a pastel purple sweater and loose black leggings with mud-coated electric blue rain boots.

Light footsteps tapped the floor, barely creaking the floorboards. The screened door slowly opened, revealing a small girl with sunshine white hair and big round glasses that slipped down her face. 

“What are you doing out here?” the girl asked. She had a mousy voice and was holding a small light pink blanket worn from love. 

“Nothing, Missy. Just sitting.” 

“It’s too early for this. I’m tired.” Missy whined. 

“Then go to bed.” 

“I can’t.” 

Franny had three siblings—Missy being one of them. There were six people in total that lived in the baby blue house. Four kids, one mom, and one dad. People always asked mom: “How do you and your husband provide for your family?'' and she would respond with: “Well we do what we can. It’s not easy. Having a big family never is.” That couldn’t be farther from the truth. Having a big family is easy. Lots of people do it, but it’s a lot harder after you’ve had a few beers. She doesn't provide for the family. Pop provides for the family, but he’s too humble to say anything. That’s what makes him a good man, Franny thought as she sat on the steps, staring out at the trees. 

“Did you say something?” Missy asked.

“No, come on. Let’s go inside,” Franny replied.

They stood up and walked through the screen door, already ajar. The sizzle of bacon and the smell of fresh coffee lingered down the hallway. Missy bounded towards the kitchen. Pop was at the stove frying up fresh bacon. Missy threw herself onto him, grabbing his legs tight.

“Missy, is that you?” he asked as he placed his hand lightly onto her head. 

“Yes!” she giggled.

“Sit down and you can have some bacon.” 

Missy let go of her hold on her father's legs and ran over and pulled herself up onto the chair, placing her pink blanket on the table. Pop turned around and placed a plate full of bacon right in front of her. Her eyes widened with excitement as she scarfed down the bacon. It didn’t take her but two minutes for all of it to be gone. Missy was small but her appetite was incredible. After she finished, she looked up at Pop, who was watching her with admiration and a cup of coffee in hand. 

“That’s my girl,” he chuckled. His laugh echoed throughout the whole house.

Pop was a good person. He had soft, bright eyes that were held by big square glasses. He had wrinkles on his forehead from always worrying about others and around his mouth from laughing too much. He always had his cup of coffee every morning, and he would make the best breakfast. 

“Go get dressed, Missy. Go on.”

Missy jumped out of her seat and reached for her blanket, sliding it off the counter. She bounded down the hall, full and content, just as Jonathan, a slender thirteen-year-old boy, walked into the kitchen. Jonathan was the odd one out—the odd one out in the family, in school, and in sports. He just didn’t fit in. He had raven black hair that didn’t grow out enough to look purposeful, but too much to look clean. He always sulked and never talked to anyone, but he loved books. 

Pop was sitting at the counter sipping his coffee. “Hey, Jonathan. Is that you?”

“Yes, it's me. What’s for breakfast?”

“You already had breakfast,” Pop laughed. 

“What? No, I didn’t.” 

“Yes, you did. You just ate a whole plate of bacon and went traipsing back down the hall.” Pop smiled.

“Oh, sorry Pop. I must’ve forgotten.” 

Jonathan walked back through the door into the hallway. The hallway was long— sometimes it felt never ending with green and white striped wallpaper, but unlike normal families, the hallways weren’t filled with family photos. They were just blank. At the very end of the hallway, there were stairs—old, rickety stairs that spiraled up to the second floor. As Jonathan made his way up, the stairs groaned underneath him. Finally, he reached the top and turned into his room that he shared with his three sisters. Although the house looked quite spacious (at least from the outside), there was only one room for the four of them. They had to squeeze in there. It felt suffocating sometimes. They each had their own mattress, and although the walls were a plain beige color, the light from the porcelain white shutters made the room a bit more exciting. 

“Who ate breakfast?” Jonathan asked.

“I didn’t,” replied Franny, “but I saw Missy walk toward the kitchen this morning.”

Missy sat in the corner, holding her blanket close to her face as if it would protect her from her siblings. “I’m sorry,” Missy said quietly.

All of the siblings berated Missy with an angry argument of why they deserved breakfast more than her. They all began yelling at each other, growing louder with each raucous remark. 

“BE QUIET! PLEASE! STOP FIGHTING!” Franny yelled. The room went dead silent.  

“Come on, Missy. I’m hungry,” said Jonathan in defeat.

“But you already ate the same as I did,” Missy shot back.

“Just forget it, okay? I get lunch?”

“Yes, fair enough.”

The house only supported three people, not six, but they had nowhere else to stay. “This is the best place we can get with what we have. We just have to be extra careful when the landlord comes around.” Mom said.

When the landlord came, mom drank furiously. He only gave a day's notice, and sometimes not even that. He would just show up. 

Muffled conversation came up like smoke through the thin floorboards of the siblings’ room. The conversation began escalating quickly as indignant words were exchanged. Missy put her ear to the floorboard to see if she could figure out what was going on. 

“David, we don’t have time for this. Why—listen!”

“Laura, I can’t when—sitting!”

“This is his third—excessive.” 

CRASH! 

Something had been thrown—maybe a bottle, maybe a plate, maybe a mug. Missy sat up and looked at the rest of the siblings with concern. 

“So?” Jonathan asked.

“I think the landlord’s coming again,” she replied. They all slumped down onto the floor, knowing what was coming next. This had happened at least three or four times a month, so they were used to it.  

“Kids! Come here!” Mom called.

The kids trudged down the winding stairs and the never-ending hallway to the kitchen. Mom’s hair was in a messy bun and her eyes were red, tired from crying, and her voice raspy from yelling. A beer bottle was shattered on the floor. The light from the window shone through it, creating dancing brown shimmers along the wall. It almost seemed beautiful. 

Mom was pretty if she tried, but she never did. Her face was sunken and wrinkled, but not like Pop. Her hair was salt and pepper and long. She gave the kids a big hug, wrapping her arms around all of them at once, like she’d just come back from a long trip. Pop spoke because Mom wouldn’t. Mom always had to be the good guy, even if everyone knew she wasn’t. 

“The landlord’s coming again. Franny, you stay downstairs with us, and the rest of you stay upstairs and be quiet, okay?” he said.

They all agreed. 

“He’ll be here any minute, so let’s go kiddos.”

Pop spoke with such kindness in his voice that they almost didn’t mind it at all. All except Franny made their way upstairs. 

“Okay, Franny, you know the drill.”

“Yeah, Pop. Thanks,” she said sarcastically. 

“I know you don’t like lying, but we have to have a place to live, right?”

“Right.”

Franny knew that it wasn’t really about a place to live. Everyone knew, even the landlord. The kids were all crowded around the shutters, waiting for the shiny black car that the landlord drove to appear around the corner. Through the shutters, the car looked almost like a hearse. By now, they had done this enough to where they had found the best angles where you could see everything. They saw the black car peer around the corner, creeping down the street until it finally parked at their house. A tall man in a black suit got out. His tie, a navy blue, and his air confident. He strode down the sidewalk like he had places to be and meetings to get to.  

“There he is!” Jonathan exclaimed.

“I wanna see! I wanna see!” Missy whined.

Missy was short. Reaching the window was hard for her, so she had to stand on her tiptoes to reach it. She put her delicate hands against the shutters to see. The landlord turned onto the sidewalk, and as Missy put her hand on the shutters, they swung open and a gush of wind rushed through the window. Missy's hand flew through the open window, her small body hanging over the window sill like a rag doll. Jonathan grabbed Missy quickly, but not quick enough. The landlord’s eyes met Jonathan's, his face unfazed but his pace fervently quickening.  The kids quickly put their backs against the wall under the window sill, hoping that by some chance he didn’t see them. Then, Johnathan thought: It’s awfully odd for a landlord to be all dressed up like that. Three booming knocks at the door interrupted him before he could think any more about it. They heard the patter of feet down the hallway and the creak of the door opening. In the siblings’ room, you could hear a pin drop. The silence was thick and heavy. Then, a faint voice cut through. It was Jenny. Jenny was ten years old and had fiery red hair and ghostly pale features. She almost never talked; she just followed the other siblings around. 

“I need to go to the bathroom,” Jenny said quietly.

“Well, hold it. The landlord will only be here for a few more minutes.” Jonathan replied.

“I can’t.”

Without a second thought, Jenny bolted out of the room and darted down the hallway. Her siblings raced after her, but Jenny ran with unparalleled speed, dashing down the winding stairs so quickly that they lifted her instead of groaning. She darted down the never-ending hallway and into the living room where Franny, Mom, Pop, and the landlord all sat. Jenny stopped dead in her tracks—they all did, breathing hard. The kids looked at Franny, then at the landlord. Their fear began to wash away. They danced around Franny, giggling in delight. They were so thrilled with what they had done. Free at last! They raced in and out of the doorways, circling the landlord, the mother and Pop enjoying their time. The landlord had a permanent look of disgust, but that didn’t stop them. They gallivanted through the living room, in and out, in and out.

Franny stood and joined them, dancing and laughing. All of the kids danced back to their room, awaiting what was to come next. They sat for a few hours alone, the sound of fighting once again coming up from the floorboards, but this time, no one listened. Somehow, although the words had never been spoken, they knew what was coming. They looked through the open shutters and saw another car that looked almost like a hearse turn the corner. A man in a black suit and slick hair walked again through their yard to their front door. Three resounding knocks broke the silence and they all walked down the winding stairs for the last time, each holding a little briefcase full of their things. Mom’s sobs could be heard clearly from the living room. Pop yelled like he never had before.

“YOU CAN’T TAKE MY CHILDREN FROM ME! YOU HORRIBLE PEOPLE!”

“Please, sir, calm down. Please,” the slicked man said as he ushered the kids out the door. 

“Should we go Pop?” Missy asked. Missy’s voice cut through Pop’s screaming, pulling him back down to earth. Pop looked at Missy with sad eyes, knowing there was nothing else he could do.

He sighed, defeated, and said, “Yes, Missy.”

“Are we gonna see you again?” she asked.

“Yes, Missy.” Pop slowly closed the door of the baby blue house. Leaving the siblings and slick man on the front steps alone. 

“Follow me,” The man gestured toward the car.

They did, and as they followed him across the yard, soft snow began to fall, kissing their cheeks and noses. When they reached the gate, they turned around to see the baby blue house with the swinging porcelain white shutters, for what they didn’t know would be the last time.

Eventually, the shutters had been closed. The paint had turned a different color from years of neglect. Years later, Franny stood staring at the house. She walked to the weathered white fence and opened it slowly. She walked through the yard, stepping through grass that went up to her knees and made her way up the sunken steps. The screen door was already open, as if expecting her. She walked through the door and the house unraveled before her eyes, memories dancing. She turned to see the black winding stairs and quickly walked up them. Although she knew they were gone, she still wished that maybe, when she got to the top, her mom would be there waiting, ready to hug her. Pop would have his coffee mug in hand, looking at her the way he always did. She peered up the stairs into the empty hallway and turned into her room, still the same as she had remembered it. She walked toward the shutters and lifted the latch to open them. She stuck her hand out into the clean cut air, and slowly, snow began to fall. She wondered what had gone wrong. She looked down at her hand, the snowflakes tainted by its warmth, no longer the beautiful snowflake it once was, just water like a secret when it gets out. No longer a secret, just truth.