This House

It’s early in the morning. I can see the ocean through the kitchen window. The water hits the shore forcefully, but the sound is blocked by the soundproof windows we’d put in a few years ago. At this hour, the house is so quiet, you can hear a pin drop. In fact, it’s like this at every hour. Ever since that boat accident last summer.

The whole family was there. My parents. My little sister and older brother. Even the family dog, Jackson. We rented a speed boat, something my father had wanted to do for a long time. He liked to think of himself as the adventurous parent. But he never really did anything very adventurous with us until that moment. Everyone was so excited. Except for me, of course. I was just scared, as usual. But I loved watching everyone else having so much fun. That is, until our boat hit a rock and capsized. 

The rock was directly in front of us, as clear as day. So, I still can’t understand why my father drove straight toward it. Maybe he wasn’t really paying attention. He was pretty well known for that. Not paying attention. Especially when it really mattered. Like it did at that moment.

We all fell out of the boat and into the water. It was still really early in the morning, and the water was freezing cold. And none of us had life jackets on. My parents never thought much about safety. As much as my father wanted everyone to believe otherwise, they weren’t used to doing anything quite so adventurous and dangerous. 

So, there we were, in the freezing cold water, trying to turn the boat right side up. But it was no use. We had to make a swim for it, all the way back to the shore, two miles away. I remember my limbs going numb and my chest convulsing as we made our way back to land. 

My little sister struggled the most, however, and she had to climb onto my father’s back, holding onto him for dear life the whole way. She shivered uncontrollably, and her skin was losing all of its color. It took us at least an hour, maybe even two to get back. I don’t know how she held on so long with those weak, shaky arms.

And poor Jackson swam beside us until his legs completely gave out. I remember seeing his head completely go under the water. My older brother went after him and had to carry him the rest of the way, forcing my brother to swim with a side stroke.

Once we made it to land, I thought we’d be a new family in the best way possible. We experienced something terrible. But we worked together and made it out in one piece. Yet something entirely different transpired.

We haven’t been the same since that day. I think we are all suffering from post traumatic stress disorder. But no one talks about it. No one talks about anything at all anymore. Even the dog prefers to keep quiet these days. He used to be so lively, barking cheerfully when the postal carrier came, running into the kitchen excitedly to chow down his food within seconds, jumping up and down every time he saw us picking up his tennis ball. Jackson always knew how to lift everyone’s spirits. But not anymore.

Our house is the saddest house you’ve ever seen. Early in the morning, my mom and dad sit in their usual spots on the sofa and stare at the TV, even though the TV stopped working months ago. They just stare at the blank screen all day long. And my little sister stays in her bedroom and plays with her dolls. But she no longer talks to them when she plays. And my older brother doesn’t leave his bed. He just lays there.

Even the house itself is in a depressed state. It looks like it's been forgotten. Its color, once light and vibrant, has somehow become dull and grey. The stairs used to creak when I walked up or down them. The pipes used to groan. Now they don’t react at all, much like the rest of my family. Sometimes, I see people walking outside the house. They look at our house with fear in their eyes, as though they’re afraid of it. Afraid of the people who never leave the house anymore.

And then there’s me. I wander the house and look out the window at the ocean, where the accident happened. And I wonder how we got to this place, to where we are now. We weren’t perfect, but we were doing pretty well. We were generally a happy family. Then I sit at the kitchen table and consider what I’m going to eat. Probably blueberry pancakes. But I’m not really hungry. So, I decide to take a shower. But even that seems like too much right now. I look in on my parents and watch them watching the blank TV screen. I walk upstairs and watch my little sister play with her dolls, her skin still so sickly looking ever since that forsaken boat accident. Then I stare at my brother’s bedroom door and decide not to open it.

As I enter my own bedroom and sit on the bed, I look around at my room sullenly. It’s so gloomy now. I can’t remember the last time I opened the curtains to let in the natural sunlight. The artificial light from the small lamp on my dresser is so dim, my eyes would never adjust to the daylight, were I to leave this house. 

Jackson enters the room and jumps onto my bed. He lays his head on my lap. I rub the top of his head and around his ears, but it’s just a habitual motion. 

When night falls, I think to myself, one day it’s going to get better. And then the question arises, did we survive that boat accident? Is that why everything’s so eerily quiet in this house? Sometimes, I hope that is the case. Otherwise, there's something really wrong with us.