This Old House

I pulled up to the old house, but I didn't go inside. Instead, I stayed in my car and stared. The front hadn't changed much; the paint was a little more faded and the doorframe looked a little more worn, but the plants around the walkway were still meticulously planted and the sense of warmth that the house exuded was still there. The lights were on (when were they not?) and the glow from the windows cast shadows on the driveway and the plants surrounding it. I could see people moving around inside. Talking, laughing, milling around the kitchen and dining room. I knew who they were; Paul, Carol, Mary, Aaron, they were all there. Everyone I hadn't seen in three years was inside that house.

I'd nearly forgotten the eighteen Thanksgiving celebrations I%u2019d had inside those walls. The mismatched chairs, the potluck kitchen, the loudness and the little kids horsing around in the basement. I was one of those kids, once, playing "The Adventures of Willy Beamish" on Paul's old computer or playing house in the basement under the gentle eyes of Mama Johnston. But I'd walked out of that front door three years ago and hadn't been back since. Now I wondered why. Was I ashamed of the decisions I'd made that year? Afraid of the consequences? I was living with them now and I didn't regret it. Maybe I was afraid of how they'd look at me, how they'd live with me. They didn't have to. I got an apartment on the other side of town, didn't talk to them at school. But now I was back, outside the old house.

I got out of the car and walked up to the door. I rang the doorbell. Aaron answered, Carol close behind to see who would be calling halfway through Thanksgiving dinner. I could see her look of surprise over Aaron's shoulder. Carol never really forgave me for leaving, I suppose.

"Hi, Aaron," I smiled wanly and bounced my 3 year old daughter on my hip. "Could you let me in? It's cold out here in the rain." After a moment, he opened the screen door and stepped aside to let me pass. I walked into the foyer. It wouldn't be long until my mother and father saw me standing there, before my siblings would begin assaulting me with three years' worth of hugs and questions, but I enjoyed the silent moment.

I was home.