365 Days- Book I

21. Foreclosure

July 21, 2018

 "Write a poem or short story about someone who has lost or is about to lose their home. " 

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She unlocked the door and stood at the threshold, as though waiting for someone or something; breathing in the musty familiar smell that wafted from the inside, the aroma of memories, a lingering fragrance of the days gone by.

"Put me down, you idiot," she screeched as a strong pair of arms sweep her off her feet and carry her over the threshold; her ire dissolving into a fit of giggles when he nuzzled her neck, which soon transformed to a sensuous tingle as he laid her down on the still wrapped mattress. All thoughts of unpacking and setting up the house disappeared as he made slow tender love to her.

She made her way along the hallway, the curtains gently fluttering in the wind. She wondered how many hours had been spent on selecting the patterns, setting them for each room, coordinating the fabric colours with the wall paint. Hours, maybe days even, but each curtain had certainly been picked with care, a labour of love.

Really, do we need to have two sets of curtains- sheer ones and thick ones, contrasting and yet coordinated?

She pouted and sulked, "You promised I could pick the curtains, I even offered to do it on my own, you volunteered to accompany me, and now you are complaining? Fine, let us leave now, I pull out some old bed sheets and we can use as curtains. And we shall not bother about bed sheets; we can use the mattress without a sheet or we could use towels. As to what to do for the towels..."she stopped for he had placed his palm over the lips. She glared at him but could not be angry for long, not when he whispered, "I was just thinking aloud, and you look so tempting when angry, it is difficult for me not to kiss you. Shall we continue with the selection, I promise not to say another word?"

It must be worth it, but the thought of leaving them behind did not seem to hurt as much as it should have. She continued to the kitchen where she stood at the doorway, staring at the sparkling counters and the gleaming appliances. It was again a place that was designed with love and she could feel the love the still permeated the air.

"...stir for five minutes, then add the seasoning spices, simmer for a couple of minutes and then adjust salt according to taste...yuck" she cursed as she burnt her tongue with the hot acrid taste. After rinsing her mouth, she stared at the simmering stew, which tasted like burnt bitter gourd. Another meal gone to waste, at this rate she would never be able to cook a decent meal for her husband. It hurt her especially when she knew that he would never grudge her complete absence of culinary skills, rather he would laugh it away, joking that he was glad she had not burnt the kitchen down.

She could not step into the kitchen and retraced her steps along the hallway and paused by the staircase, which she knew led to the bedrooms above. Step by step she climbed, running her fingers along the wooden banister, each step taking her closer to the master bedroom. She stood at the top of the stairs, wondering if she should continue her journey, especially into the master bedroom; she thought it was intruding into the private moments, of a love lost. After a few minutes she made up her mind and almost ran to the bedroom and pushed the doors open. But at the threshold her resolve failed as memories hit her.

"I love you," he had murmured into her ears, as they lay entwined in each other's arms, tired yet satiated after their ardent lovemaking. She did not answer, just snuggled deeper into him, her eyes drooping even as a glow filled her. This was her dream house, a life with the man she loved. There was nothing more she needed or wanted from life.

A discreet cough shook her out of her reverie, "I am sorry, Madam, for your loss, but there is nothing we can do. I do not wish to be harsh, but could we sign off the papers and close the deal?."

She nodded and followed him downstairs, where she sat at the window seat and signed the thick sheaf of papers. Once done, she pulled out the keys from her handbag, handed it over and walked out, fighting the tears that threatened to fall. She had a lifetime to shed those tears, there was no point breaking down in front of a stranger.

She set off at a brisk pace, one that took her further and further away from the house that she had foreclosed the loan against, further from the house that had been a dream home. But the home was not the only thing that had been foreclosed, her life had also been foreclosed, a couple of months ago, when her husband, the love of her life, had been killed in a road accident.

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Word Count - 836