The House's Pick

My grandma would always tell me that the house is the one who chooses their owners. We as humans might think we’re the ones looking at pricing, and location, but in reality, houses are far wiser, and in their magical way, they choose us. My family moved around a lot as a kid, and that can be scary, but because of grandma, I was never worried or sad. The house chose us, so clearly, we needed to be there. I was always excited when we moved and before the rooms were filled with our belongings, I would run from room to room introducing myself, ready for whatever the house had in store for me.

But then I grew up and grandma died.

The magic of grandma was gone, and I was finding it hard to still believe in any magic. But I desperately needed her now because this move was different. Mom and I are speeding away from our newest home, and from dad. Mom refused to explain anything, all I know is they’re divorcing. Mom found a home a state over and apparently, we’re not stopping until we get there. I want to scream, we had just got settled in, I had made the volleyball team and now I’m forced to move? It wasn’t long enough. That house had more to give. And this new one, couldn’t have chosen us – it’s too soon, to rough, to unplanned.

I look out the window and wish again for grandma, she always knew how to comfort me.

We’re lying on a quilt outside our newest house, in two days I’ll start Jr. High and we’re enjoying the last few moments of summer. I’m excited to begin however, because the house chose me, and if the house chose me, well, obviously this Jr. High is where I’m supposed to be too.

“The house found Grandpa and I when we were first newlyweds. It was so small our couch stuck out into the hall. It needed a lot of work. But the house knew we needed close space together and we needed to build something.” She sighed as she always did when telling me about her homes. “We learned so much about each other those first few months. It was so small I would crawl into a closet and your grandpa would stand in the corner next to the couch after we fought. That closet comforted me, eased my anger, and hurt, the corner did the same for grandpa and in its gentle way the house reminded us to always return to each other. We were so happy there.”

“But then a new house found you?” My eyes are closed and I’m picturing the small house, the pictures grandma takes with every move, covering the walls. The two of them nestled together on their couch that didn’t fit.

“Yup. A new house with new wonders.” She kisses the top of my head. “And I can hardly wait for the wonders of this house.”

But this new house won’t have wonders. It feels all wrong. I should have seen this coming, the tension between my parents had been growing. But our new place, our new house was supposed to fix that. I’m far too old to believe in magic – what sixteen-year-old does? And perhaps, as my mother also told my grandma, it was time to grow up and see the world as it is. Houses don’t pick us. We move because my father lost his job, or we were too close to a bar or grandma needed to be nearer the hospital. We pick up and flee from the memories of the houses before.

I blink as tears run down my cheeks, a heavy ache in my chest.

***

The new house is old, the whole block is old, small houses on large lots with huge old trees in front. It’s early when we arrive, and the house looks sad in the dim morning light. I have no desire to greet it. I could feel it, it didn’t want us here, we weren’t the one’s it picked. But mom was all business and parked the car, grabbed her suitcase and was at the front door within a minute. I slowly trailed behind. Inside mom finally started talking, she was animated now, trying to make this move seem exciting. But she was not grandma, and there was nothing exciting about this move, soon she stopped trying.

“Look, we’re here and we’ll just have to deal with it. Pick whatever room you want upstairs.”

I walked up the stairs, each step creaking like it was in pain. I opted for the small room facing the backyard and sat on the ground. Smoothing out the vacuum lines in the carpet I whispered to the house as a whole, “Sorry.”

My thoughts drifted, as they always did to Grandma, trying to find some comfort in her tales.

“But grandma, what if two houses pick you?” Grandma was doing my hair for my fourth-grade music recital, this would be my last event at this school.

“Oh no need to worry about that dear. Houses are far too wise for that nonsense. Two houses can’t pick us, because we’re only meant to be at one.”

“But grandma Mom and Dad didn’t goooo to the house, they only looked at it online!”

“Pfff! And you think a house doesn’t know how to pick it’s people online?”

I hadn’t until then. I assumed you had to be there, in the house to be picked. But of course! Houses were far wiser than that.

“A house once picked me through a friend of a friend’s stepson’s mother’s aunt. And that house was the house your mother was born in!”

She leaned down and kissed my cheek. “Houses have it all planned out, even when no one else does.”

***

Monday mom drove me to school in silence. we hadn’t talked much since we got here, neither of us seemed to have anything to say, or perhaps too much to say. As she sped away, I signed, grateful we lived close enough I could walk home – the less time I spent with her right now, the better.  I knew the routine of a new school and could do it in my sleep, most of the day I was only half paying attention to what was going on around me, the other half I had zeroed in on my phone, waiting for a text from my dad that never came. As I walked home, I thought fondly of the house I had just left, it’s front room with the large window, when opened the smell of lilacs floated in from the neighbor’s yard filling the whole house, I wonder what it smelt like in winter. I would never know now. Tears stung my eyes, but I kept them at bay It really wasn’t the house I was missing, more so the people that should have come with, dad and grandma. But grandma hadn’t been with us for the past three moves.

The walk was unimpressive until something caught my eye. A large oak tree standing majestically across the street, it’s leaves gently moving in the breeze. Below the tree would be an old wooden swing, but when I looked it wasn’t there. Still, I froze in place.

I knew this tree.

I looked beyond it to the house behind.

I knew this house.

But how? I had never been here nor lived in this state before. But I knew this house. I knew that if I were to walk up the peeling porch steps the third from the bottom would squeak and I knew the window that looked out into the street would stick if I tried to open it. And I knew there really should be a swing dangling from that tree. I shouldn’t – couldn’t know any of this. But I did. I felt it deep deep within my soul. But try as I might, I couldn’t figure out how I knew it. The curtains in the window shifted and I could almost make out the person standing inside. A shiver inched down my spine, and I forced my feet to move. Whether or not your house picks you, you don’t stand gawking at the neighbors. I walked quickly home, hoping to outrun the feeling that I had been here before.

***

My dreams were full of the house. But in my dreams, there were children playing on the swing that should have been there. When I woke up the dream felt more real than my current situation. Downstairs mom was making a ruckus. Our once empty living room was now full of boxes, I guess dad had sent everything over, yet I had yet to get a text from him. Mom was elbow deep in a box, pulling pictures and books free and stacking them haphazardly on the floor. I reached her right as the stack was about to tumble. Taking the stack I rearranged the items on the floor, my hands gently touching each picture. Grandma’s pictures. The one I held in my hand was her forth house, mom was around six and grandma held her in her arms with grandpa’s arms around them both. Grandma always said that house had picked them out of desperation, it needed the laughter and wild spirit of a child. Mom had colored every single wall with markers before they had been there a month.

Mom sighed looking at the picture. “I better get you to school.”

I shook my head, “I’ll walk”

I stopped and looked at the house on my way to school. My dream had captured it perfectly, only the paint hadn’t been peeling in my dream. The house had looked clean and well cared for, now it looked forgotten. Pulling out my phone I searched the neighborhood online, maybe this house was famous, and I had seen it in an article? But I could find nothing. Mom picked me up after school and as we drove by, I asked her if it looked familiar, she glanced over quickly but shook her head. “They all look the same too me.”

That night I dreamed again of the house; the children were older this time. boy and girl about my own age, she sat on the swing as he pushed her. They looked at each other with love, but just as the boy was leaning down for a kiss darkness swarmed in covering them and the house. I woke with a start, my heart pounding.

I spent my weekend searching and searching for something about the house, but as far as the internet was concerned, there was nothing remotely important about it. Each day after school I could not help myself from stopping and staring at it, I thought of knocking, but what would I tell the owners? ‘Hey, your house is giving me crazy dreams, know why?’

A loud crash and an outcry had me running down the stairs. Mom stood, swearing, looking at a pile of broken rose-colored glass. I knew what it was instantly, grandma’s flower vase. The flower vase her grandma had given her when she was young. The flower vase that had held every bouquet grandma had ever received.

I gasped, realization dawning slow but powerful. Grandma’s first house.

“My favorite house wasn’t one that picked me, but that picked Him, Tommy. He moved in across the street from me when he was a young boy. Oh, we became fast friends, and as we grew, we began to love each other greatly. We were going to get married, and that was when I learned just how powerful hope and love was. I was so excited for the places and houses that would pick us. But war came and with it our dreams were put on hold. Tommy left, and when he came back, he was quiet and angry. He wouldn’t talk to me, wouldn’t let me help. Another house chose my parents and we left.”

“He was your first love?” I was scandalized; I had thought grandpa was grandma’s only love.

“Yes. And until I met your grandpa, I didn’t think I could love again.” Her eyes were wistful. “But still Tommy was my first true deep friend and I’ll always wonder what happened to him. I’ll always wish he would have let me help.”

Tommy’s house. Tommy’s swing. Tommy’s squeaky third step. Grandma had told me countless stories of the house – her all-time favorite house. I took a deep breath as mom continued to swear and apologize. The figure looking out the window, could it be? My feet were turning and bolting out the door before I knew what was happening. Down the street I ran in a mad dash and up the porch steps, stopping to hear the squeak I knew was there. My smile grew as I knocked on the door. It was an eternity before an old man opened it. His eyes were hooded and dark, his mouth pulled down in a frown. “What do you want?”

Thrusting my hand out I smiled. “My grandmother was Violet Steven’s, and my house did choose me.”