Little House

There once was a small house. Surrounded by long-limbed cypresses, the house stood in idyllic seclusion. It was a little house, in soft pastel and delicately painted colors.

That house is empty now. But once, long ago, there were people. People who laughed and lived and loved. They are all gone now. But sometimes, you can still hear them.


                                                                                                       
She stood on the porch, hesitant. Should she go in? The house, despite its small size and dainty colors, loomed over her, swallowing her up with anxiety. It was not a large house; it was rather little, like the dollhouse she had when she was young. But she had known what was in her dollhouse: dolls, little furniture, tiny things that were familiar to her. She didn’t know what was in this house: who are the people that live here? How are they like? She could not, for all she tried, disguise the fact that the house, with all its airy softness, frightened her.

“Don’t be afraid,” he said, offering her his hand, “I’m sure they’ll love you.’

She looked at him, gave a small smile. “You can tell I’m nervous, huh?”

He took her hand in his, rubbed it gently. “Don’t worry so much. You are lovely and you’re my girl.”

He kissed her on the forehead. 

She blushed at him. “Don’t,” she said, trying weakly to push him away, “someone might see.”

“I don’t care,” he said, mouth against her neck, “let them see.”

A warm, wafting scent of cookies embraced her. She looked. The window was open, and his mom’s head was hanging out.

“Hi!” she called in a cheerful voice, “you came later than expected.”

“Sorry ma,” he said, “Our plane was delayed.”

“Well, you’re here now. Come in, come in.” The head disappeared and moments later, the door opened.

She looked at him. He smiled gently back at her, gripping her hand.

She took a deep breath. “I’m ready, Josh.”


The trees around the house were tall trees, easily dwarfing the house. Providing shade and so much more, they had been here for as long as anyone can remember. There was a bench under the shade, made for two.

Worn by time, the bench still remains, its surface smooth and faded. It has been a long time since it has been touched. But once, long ago, lovers sat here, marveling at their love with all the naivety of children.

“I need to talk to you,” said Josh.

She turned from her conversation, surprised.

“Can’t this wait?” asked his dad. “We just got to the interesting part.”

“No,” Josh said firmly. ‘It’s important.”

“Okay,” said his father. He held out his hand to her. “It was nice meeting you.” To Josh he said, “You have a great girlfriend. Don’t let her get away.”

Something in Josh’s eye flickered at this, but he smiled it away. He opened the door for her.

Outside, he led her to a small area hidden by the trees, long-limbed cypresses that swayed lazily to the breeze.

“I have to go.”

“Already?” she asked, surprised. “We just got here. I mean, we can go if you want, but are you sure?”

“No…” Josh took a deep breath, “I mean, I have to go.”

“I can’t stay with your parents without you!” she said, horrified. “How awkward would that be? And why?”

Josh closed his eyes and marshaled his strength. This was infinitely harder than he thought. “That’s not exactly what I mean.”

“Then what?”

“I-” Josh breathed deeply, “I-I enlisted. I’m joining the military.”

The sun, so bright a moment ago, disappeared, its light extinguished by the overhead trees. She didn’t notice. Her eyes focused on Josh: his eyes, his nose, his lips, the little scar on his cheek. She had never asked him where that came from. She sat down; her legs suddenly felt like one of the twigs lying around: frail and so easily snapped.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Two year later, she came back. The house no longer was a stranger. Like her dollhouse, it had become a part of her.

It was night now. She looked at the brilliant moon, round as a coin. Its gentle light washed over the house. There were people inside; the house was lit aglow, the muted colors somehow were brighter than what they were. She could hear laughter in the house, peals of joyous laughter that shone as brightly as the moonlight. She smiled. There was that familiar smell of cookies that she so loved. Time seems to pass so fast, yet the house appeared eternally unchanging. The porch, the door, the windows-they were the same. Like the present was still the past, like the sun that came everyday.

A noise, a commotion and the door opened. Josh came out. He stopped.

“Amanda?”

She blinked. “Josh?” Her legs felt weak, her eyes stung. “Josh?”

He came running down. “Amanda!” he cried, picking her up. She hugged him fiercely.

Times change. People come and go. But the house is still there.