A Farewell to A Good House

My cousin, Mark, asked me tonight if anyone else had access to the house. It seems some sort of notice had been put up on one of the windows in the house, from the inside. He asked me to run him home in my aunt Sherry’s car, so we swung by the house to investigate.
There was a notice on the door saying that the house had been winterized with certain chemicals and warning people to stay away. Someone has changed the lock to the front door. So I suppose the long-awaited falling of the proverbial hammer has happened.
I expected this. Hell, I expected this a long time ago. Had I known these fucks would take so long, I would have taken my time moving. But all of the alarmists were pulling out their hair and telling me that when the mortgage company moved on the house, they’d only give me a couple of weeks to vacate. And since no one knew when that would be …
Well, the finality of it is … notable. Not that I ever entertained any such fantasy, but there now is literally no going back. This was only the second time I had been back to the house since September. I’ve made my peace.
I touched my favorite Japanese cherry tree on my way back to the car. That was my goodbye, and seemed appropriate. When we pulled out of the driverway, I didn’t look back.
Mark was more upset than I was, I think. His scavenging operation has come to an end. He’s been paying some of his bills for the last few months by rummaging through the attic and selling some of what he’s found. Selling our stuff. Look, I left it behind. I don’t begrudge him that. But it still feels strange to say that. “He’s making a living by selling our stuff.”
I’m not terribly upset about finding out that the locks have been changed. Like I said, this was not unexpected. So tomorrow I’ll hit the road again, and nothing will have changed. I just thought that perhaps this should be mentioned. If nothing else, this is notable.
But it would be a lie to claim that the finality of it all has left me unaffected. I’m somewhat wistful. At the moment, more than anything in the world, I just want to walk through the back yard and feel the wind in my hair. I want to sit in my swing and listen to the windchimes and the crickets, and maybe the occasional train rambling through on the railroad tracks down by the mill.
I don’t guess I’ll be doing that again any time soon.

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