HOME

I

November 5th, 1969

They drive most of the way there with the windows slightly ajar. Donna finds herself more nauseous in the evenings nowadays; the air helps somewhat, but the drive is longer than she cares for in her condition. She sits, half tranced by the fleeting scenery. She'd never been surrounded by such dense forest. She lived all her life in the city and never made it up much further north than Yonkers.

"Much longer?" She asks, disenchanted by a sudden rut in the road.

"Don't think so. It's just so dull out. I can hardly see what I've got written down here; the fog isn't helping any." Nathen laughs adding, "I passed a few turns on accident, but I didn't want to bother you." He pauses, glancing in her direction. "Seemed like you were resting."

Donna smiles responding, "I think I was meditating." she says, shifting towards him in her seat. "You know, maybe the Dalai Lama is onto something with all that talk. I've never really tried before, but for a moment, it came natural."

"Are we Buddhist now?" Nathen asks, grinning. "My father would turn over in his lazy boy."

"I'm serious!" She claims, laughing. "It came easy; like a lack of trying. Almost as if I were being called in by the forest." She pauses seriously, then slowly breaks into a cheeky smile adding, "I might start wearing open toed shoes and speak in nonsensical riddles like Dylan. I feel quite changed by my experience."

A "For Sale by Owner" sign is posted to an oak tree just out front. Donna, inspired, imagines a tire swing there. From inside her large belly, 7 months along, the baby squirms; as if to share in her excitement.

The exterior needs work, but the property is large and has potential. The wood shingles, those that remain, appear dated and worn. Original. The lawn lacked any sense of separation. Large brush appeared to grow around the house, enveloping in it some regions.

Donna hoped for the best, but all they're offers on other homes had been rejected in their desperate search. They'd faces undeniable discrimination, though Nathen pretends to not take any notice to their handicap. Truthfully, he's become desperate. He knows they must set roots before the baby arrives. He'd been scrambling for months, facing rejection after rejection.  This seemed to be their last stone unturned. He's prepared himself for the familiar denial, but prayed for this house to be their saving grace.

Donna is well aware of their predicament. As hard as Nathen tries to protect her from the weight of worry, she carries it as well. She'd seen all the looks and glances they'd receive. The way potential neighbors peak from behind their curtains, cowardly but with resent.  It feels so strange to feel bad about something she can't change, however, she can't fight the feeling of guilt.

"If he had only fallen in love with a white woman, he's only making it hard on himself." That is something she had overheard his mother say. Change was happening in this country, but it seemed to only really effect the newer generation.

The young man didn't care about the color of her skin or the texture of her hair. He fell in love with her spirit. He never saw what others did and never understood why he couldn't have his families support. The pregnancy was unplanned, but he in no way regretted it. It only gave him the push to really act on his true desires. He was glad he was with her, he just wished he was more established before things got so complicated.

As soon as he had found out she was pregnant, he put a ring on her finger. He wished he had done it sooner and made an honest woman of her. He wished children came later, so he could give them a better life. But he was trying to correct everything now.

He steps out of the car and around to open the door for her. With both hands, he helps her maneuver out. As they approach the front door together, the woman inspects the home. A few broken windows are patched up with what looks like cardboard and tape. What remaining windows are left have out lookers; many small Victorian dolls with white porcelain skin and small eyes that followed. Nothing would turn her away however. The man laid three soil thuds on the door.

An old man larger than the frame of the door greets them. Somewhat decrepit, like the home in which he resides. Dressed like he was not at all expecting company; however, he says, "Come in." They say thank you and enter reluctantly. As they take the place in, their senses are overwhelmed with a stale smell.

"I didn't catch your name on the phone." He states. "Mr. And Mrs. What was it?"

"Campbell, sir." The young man responds. The man turns towards a hallway without much of a word. The man and woman follow. He approaches a table and retrieves a book; he opens it up and hands it to the man.

"Would you write your names in here?" He casually asks. The couple finds this strange, however.

"What for?" Mr.Campbell asks.

As if he were delighted to answer he smiles and says, "Well, I enjoy keeping a log of all my visitors. This book goes all the way back to 1947 when I bought this house. Right after the war. My wife lived here then, but now it's just me. But she never really left. I feel her sometimes."

As Campbell takes the book from the man, A phone rings from another room and the machine picks it up.

"We saw the young couple go into your house Richard. We're going to" The man leaves the room and picks up the phone before anything else is said. A quick exchange of words occurs while the couple shares a few glances.