It isn’t supposed to happen this way. And I was unprepared for it.
It was later than usual on Friday evening and this was the last house on our tour. The property was vacant, so the late hour didn’t pose a problem. Even in the last light of day, everything about this house was lovely – it was painted a pretty red hue, the yard had been lovingly tended, wisteria draped it’s long arms across the front porch like an old friend. A single electric candle burned in the attic window. It felt welcoming. The listing indicated it was bank-owned and had been on the market for several months. A bit unusual for our market, especially in this neighborhood. And it didn’t make sense.
My client stood back while I unlocked the front door. He waited for a proper invitation like the gentleman he is. The old and worn porch boards hadn’t been painted in years. I stepped softly in high heels to avoid catching my heel and tripping. In the quiet of the moment, the sudden click of the lockbox release nearly startled me. It was then that my eye caught the slightest movement through the beveled leaded glass door. There again, in the barest of light, stood a child inside, and then another, both quickly darting out of sight. Before I could even surmise the why of it, there was a young woman from around the corner. Our eyes made contact but for a moment and then she was gone. As though they were never there.
My heart was pounding as I turned and walked back toward my client. I took him by the arm, though I couldn’t say a thing. He seemed to know the words I couldn’t find. An entire story unfolding in my eyes.
Twilight is the saddest light there is. But for her, the woman who lost her home, it surely arrived as welcome relief. The time of day when she and her boys could finally return safely to the place they called home. That they are sleeping in the attic in what was once
truly their home… well, what does she tell them? Their bedrooms now stripped of toys, blankets and beds… do they dare ask? She knows she is marking time until…
Alone now and barely a block from my office, I park my car under a tree. My phone begs for attention with a dozen missed calls and texts. I am breathing hard to stop the flood of tears, but they insist. I want to go back, tell her a thousand things to make it better. Present them hot nourishing food. Apologize for the abuses in our industry that may have played a role in their misfortune.
But I don’t really know. It dawns on me that I don’t hold a single answer. Was she at fault? Is she a victim? Whatever the truth, her children certainly
are. This isn’t how it should be. Homeownership is the American Dream. And it isn’t supposed to happen this way.
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Yeah I thought for a moment they were homeless people who broke in, you did use a little poetic talk here keeping us on the edge and sometimes lost. Yes, people rarely look to see the stories and lives behind the pictures of life we see. Home has to be somewhere.
;)
;)
Jen Jen.... this almost started off like an Edgar Allan Poe short story... ;o) A tad ery at first...
But yes... the American Dream should be filled with happiness and joy....