Just when I thought I’d never get to set foot in your home again the unbelievable happened. I did that very thing over the weekend, I actually did it twice in fact.
It happened on Saturday when mum insisted upon a visit to IKEA to purchase a rug for the lounge room and in doing so needed to detour back to your place to note important measurements. As much as I genuinely wanted to come back here again I knew deep down that it would not be a welcome sight nor would my brother welcome me into ‘his’ home with open arms. Thankfully the little brother was nowhere to be found but as predicated crossing the threshold into your home was no easy feat as I was soon filled with loss.
Seeing it void of life, drained of colour and with a thick stench of pesky chemical fumes felt like the house itself had reached forth, plunged it’s fist into my chest, made for my heart and precariously dangled it right in front of my eyes in the most outrageous, mocking like fashion.
Your place is pretty much stripped bare with only a few of your own furniture pieces still in their original position but the new additions stick right out like a sore thumb. His slick television and game set on it’s black glass stand contrasts most ghastly against the now plain white wall in which your television unit once stood against proudly. And then there’s his large king bed that just manages to fit within it’s confines of what once was grandfathers room. Overall, a few pieces of yours still remain, splayed out on empty surfaces like the kitchen bench however I doubted they’d remain by the days end.
And that feeling was right on the mark. The very next day I was ‘invited’ over by mum because he was having trouble setting the oven on the freestanding cooker. Everything that according to him did not belong or he didn’t want was boxed up and carted off to the garage awaiting removal by my parents. Anyway the note to make here was that mum asked me to go over with her to work out the oven’s kinks. Turning up that fear and dread I felt as I approached that front door tripled with the intensity of the death glare he shot my way as soon as those eyes made contact with mine. He made sure to know I was not welcome here ever. Not so much in many words, well, no words in fact but through that empty stare of his that was so full of hate.
He made himself scarce while I sat down on the kitchen floor playing around with ‘his’ new oven. Turns out I couldn’t really figure out the problem either and when mum called him back to the kitchen I politely handed him back the instruction manual only to have it roughly snatched from my grasp and then tossed onto the Caesar Stone counter.
Such an aggressive move coupled with yet another silent but deadly glare.
I wondered if mum noticed it, if she noted any of the daggers he sent shooting my way every time he caught sight of me. I kind of wish she’d pull him into line, ask him to give me a break or cut the crap or something but I knew that would never happen. Despite her feelings towards the animosity she wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize her standing with the golden boy. And a golden boy he is. Sitting down on that wooden floor that I helped sand and stain, glancing around me at that sparkly new designer like kitchen I helped design I couldn’t help but be filled with envy.
He is so f****en lucky. I mean, I can’t even articulate it properly. He not only has his own home, but it is your home. A truly special place even if he doesn’t see it the way I do. He’s moved out and into his own little space, free to live at his own accord. Free to eat, sleep, drink and whatever. Whenever.
How can someone not be envious of that, especially since it’s something they’ve been dreaming about for as long as they can remember. He has it made. His own place with a teeny, tiny mortgage – a mortgage of that size unheard of in the whole city, perhaps the whole country. Parents who have and continue to help him pay off that very mortgage, who have spent their time, sweat and many tears renovating this house. Spent a truck load of money on these renovations, making sure he is comfortable here regardless of his ungrateful ass not wanting any assistance.
Sitting down on that smooth wooden surface you can’t help but give in to your imagination, let it carry you away to another reality where your house is mine and it is I who reside freely within these walls. Picturing grey walls adorned in various framed prints, bookcases dotted here and there brimming with works of art and lots of colorful scatter cushions splayed throughout. Feeling myself fall into a pool of those Missoni printed cushions, propping myself up and turning on my television whilst tucking away at a chicken, lentil and yoghurt concoction I made in your kitchen for dinner. Sitting on the deck watching the sky turn from cerulean to purple-pink as the sun bids farewell to this side of the world. Capturing those majestic dusk skies on my phone and unabashedly Instagraming them.
It sucks to be still at home, being the oldest ‘kid’ in our street now and knowing all of the above. Watching them bend over backwards trying to impress someone who doesn’t need impressing is so incredibly hurtful. It’s been so awkward of late and after this little performance I fear it won’t get any simpler or easier and I don’t really know where to go from here now.