Sometimes the little things prompt all kind of stories …
Here is one of these stories that I wrote after I saw this line of mailboxes and I had a talk with a friend who was trying to sell her house …
A man opens his mailbox and finds an envelope.
Finally this young, arrogant realtor sent the instructions. I should have had them last week! Before the disaster! August thinks.
He looks at the screaming yellow instruction sheet. His knee hurts badly today. He shakes his head. He doesn’t want to think about last week. It is too humiliating. Sitting in the pitch black in the garage…
How did we even end up there?
Taking one step at a time, August makes his way back to the house.
Behind the big red “1” it says; “Disassociate yourself from your home!”
“Yeah, well. I try!” August mutters.
Rita, his wife, does a better job in trying. She already paints a wonderful picture before his eyes about the apartment they’re going to buy. The apartment will be close to their youngest daughter’s family. 600 miles away.
August looks at the house.
“This is a house, just a regular house. This is not my home! Something to be sold and bought, like chocolate!” suggests the yellow sheet in big red letters.
Nonononono! This is not just a house, it is MY HOME! We brought up Kelly and Nina here! Every Summer we melted marshmallows in the yard! Made S’mores.
Last week interested people came! August and Rita sat on the patio. They are supposed to leave the house, whenever someone shows up for a showing. August was already annoyed by that rule.
That day they didn’t hear the announcement on the phone. When Rita went in to get some water, she saw the blinking light.
“They are coming in five minutes! Hurry!” He heard her shouting, rearranging pillows and cleaning some imagined piece of dirt from the coach as she went. Although he didn’t immediately know what she meant, he kind of jumped from his comfortable sun chair and stared paralyzed at their normal daily mess. He couldn’t move until Rita reached over and pulled his arm. Then they both ran through the house and tried to fix everything so that those interested would think “I can see myself living here”, exactly as it says in the instructions in his hand!
The doorbell rang. They glanced at each other and they knew. Full speed to the garage! Full speed of the over 70-year-olds that is. It was the only way out, if they wanted to avoid the visitors. Still in his worn out slippers he heaved himself into the car seat.
Somebody entered their hall.
When Rita finally was sitting next to him, he pushed the garage door opener. Luckily he had oiled the garage door. It rolled up noiselessly. He was about to start the car when he looked in the rear mirror.
Instantly, his blood ran cold and the cold crept up his spine. A huge car was sitting in front of his garage.
“Oh no!” was the only thing he could mumble. Slightly annoyed Rita faced him. “What are you waiting for?” She turned to see, what he was staring at. Her face turned white.
“Oh no!” she breathed.
They were trapped.
August pushed the garage door opener again. The oiled garage door crept down, without any noise.
“There is nothing we can do!” Rita whispered the obvious.
In that moment August’s panic transformed to cold anger. Now they were sitting in the pitch black garage! In the car! Waiting! Until those people he didn’t like had assessed his home. Put a price tag on it!
What am I thinking? I don’t want to sell our home!
At least not to those strangers, who made him sit in the dark garage.
“Well, they are not going to come in here, are they?” asked his wife.
“How should I know …?”
Of course they came in. The first couple of minutes they didn’t notice them. But then this nosy little boy peeked into the window of the car.
August couldn’t help but furiously “BUH!” him.
The 5-year old screamed, “A monster!” and fled in the arms of the fat woman.
That had been the end of the showing.
Rita hadn’t talked to him since then and begged the realtor to send those “how-to-behave-instructions”.
Well, here they are. Telling me how to De-Personalize, De-Clutter, Re-Arrange, Re-Sparkle, Re-Move, Re-Pair, Re-Place, Re-Scrutinize and Re-Check the Curb Appeal. For the sake of the sale.
Well, he would exactly do that! To the letter!
If only Rita would talk to him again, he would even move to a cave or a tent, if she asked him to.
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