A House on Eden

1. The House

I saw it on my way home from work, driving through a quaint residential neighborhood. It had a For Sale by Owner sign on the immaculately manicured lawn.

It was a cottage style house, dating back to the fifties when the army built affordable housing for its families. It looked small from the outside with blue siding, white shutters, a chimney and a drive way.

But when I pulled into the driveway beside the Jeep and got out I saw what the view from the road had hidden. In the back of the house was a wild garden. Vines and ivy grew everywhere. There was a white pebble path that led to a large pond. It was overgrown with lily pads, their white lilies opened to the sun. Dragonflies flew lazily above the water, avoiding the spray of the fountain. A frog sitting on a rock croaked and jumped out of sight.

There was a white picket fence that marked the house off from the neighbors. It had been freshly painted and looked ready for someone to take a picture. Further up, where the lawn became a hill, the pebble path led into a small forest. I knew in that moment the house was mine, knew it like the day I knew I lost the baby.

Then the kitchen door opened and I put on my dark sunglasses to hide the black bruises under my eyes. A young woman in her late twenties emerged through the door way, smiling and wiping her hands on a towel.

"Are you here to see the house?" She smiled. "I'm Marjorie. I'm the owner."

"I'm Jessie," I smiled, extending my hand. 'I was just admiring your garden. It's so.., wild."

"Yes," Marjorie smiled. "That's why I bought this house. It was wild then, and I always kept it that way."

"I absolutely adore it," I said. "It is everything I've always wanted."

"Don't you want to see the rest of the house?" Marjorie smiled. "It's got four bedrooms, two full baths, hard wood floors, a kitchen, living room and dining room. You wouldn't think that, looking from the road. Let me give you the tour."

Afterward we sat on the porch, holding our glasses of cold lemonade. "Why are you selling it if you love it so much?" I asked.

"I'm a musician," Marjorie smiled. "I'm on the road a lot. It's been hard, going from gig to gig, but I always got by. Then I had a piece of luck. They gave me a permanent gig in Las Vegas. It's time to relocate.

And what about you, honey? I know those bruises you're hiding under those big sunglasses. I know how it is when his hands fly free and he loses all reason. But the house always took care of me. That is the truth. And it will also take care if you. Isn't that after all what we need, us lonely scared battered women? Someone who takes care of us?"

"I want to buy your house," I said. "I will go to the bank tomorrow and bring you a check."

"Are you sure?" Marjorie smiled.

'I'm sure," I said.

"Then it's yours," she said. "I will see you tomorrow."