Looking Within

Something growing? Click.

Something wooden? Click.

Something white? Click.

This quaint neighborhood was proving to be a great place to complete my photography instructor's scavenger hunt assignment. So far I had snapped pictures of nearly every item on the list. Five elusive items remained.

Something purple? After meandering several blocks, I spotted a cluster of lilac bushes in front of a quaint old house with a perfectly manicured lawn. Wishing for a close-up, I pushed open the picketed gate. When I was halfway across the grass, I noticed a light on in the upper window. I realized my impulsiveness might get me into trouble, so I changed course, proceeding to the front door to ask permission. When I knocked, the door fell partially off its hinges. I stood there stupidly for about a minute, trying to decide what to do.

Something out of place? Click. At least I could check another picture off the list. 

"Hello?" I called out.

There was no reply. 

I stepped into the doorway, propping the door up the best I could.

"Hello? I am sorry about the door. I knocked and it fell down."

Still no answer. 

Hesitantly, I stepped further into the house. Beyond the front entryway was the living room. After seeing the house's immaculate exterior appearance, I was taken aback by the scene that now lay before me.

Cardboard boxes and full tote bags lined the floor along the walls and behind the furniture. Piles of books and clothes were scattered about the room, some on the furniture, some on the floor. An overturned cup and a dirty plate and fork sat on an end table. The plate's remnants had started to grow mold.

Something old? Click. 

Cobwebs hung in the ceiling corners, the curtains were dusty, and several clusters of teeny brown nuggets littered the floor. Was that rodent poop? I by no means considered myself to be a competent housekeeper, but this was insane.

Something gross? Click.

I picked my steps carefully, avoiding the suspicious piles as I approached the stairwell. My boyfriend is a lot like this house, I thought. He drew me in with his well-groomed exterior and friendly presentation, but behind his outward facade was a filthy mind full of frightening ideas. And here I was, proceeding like an idiot through this house and through this relationship, even though I had the feeling I should be high-tailing it.

I started up the stairs, avoiding contact with the grimy banister. "Hello? I don't mean to disturb you, but your front door needs some attention."

All was quiet. 

"I'll help you fix it, or pay--" I stopped mid-sentence and covered my nose. It took every ounce of self-restraint to keep from making a loud exclamation about the foul odor that had just punched me in the face. My mother would have chastised me for being a rude guest if I said anything... but she wasn't there, and was I really a guest? More like an intruder. And intruders were already rude by definition.

I don't know what possessed me to proceed through the stink-cloud, but I found myself at the top of the stairs, daring to enter the creaky hallway, and pushing open the first door. The smell was overpowering now, and I had found the culprit. Reclining in an old chair with a blanket on her lap was a gray-haired lady with sunken but closed eyes. Flies swarmed her, and her eroding skin appeared to be moving. As I stepped closer, I saw maggots. I shuddered.

Something dead? Click. This is probably not what the instructor had in mind. 

I backed out of the room, tripping over a little book on my way out. I picked it up and flipped open. Elegant cursive lettering lined the pages. It was a journal. I flipped to the last page. The last entry was dated two weeks before. 

"I wish Jerry would come see me. He thinks if he pays for a landscaper he is being a good son. I don't want a landscaper; I want him. Even if he came to see me once a month, I would be so happy. He doesn't know how lonely I am. He gets annoyed when I call him, says he is busy most times. Maybe calling him every day is too much, but hearing his voice is the one thing that keeps me going from day to day. I don't have the motivation to do much anymore. Even eating is a chore."

I suddenly wished I had come by two weeks ago. Maybe I could have made friends with this lady, given her something to look forward to. I could have helped her clean her house an made her dinner. I could have brought over puzzles and board games to play together. We could have vented to each other about the men in our lives. The fact that I would have no such opportunity struck me with a melancholy feeling unlike anything I had ever felt. 

I can't explain what happened, but something inside me shifted that day. I started to see people, to really notice them. I made a point of giving a kind word to strangers, especially elderly ones. And I finally got the courage to end that unhealthy relationship of mine. For some reason I thought that old lady would have wanted me to.