THE OLD HOUSE

I used to walk past an old house on my block. A house as big as a tree.
One day as I strolled by this very big house, I heard a young man call to me.

‘Little girl will you buy me some milk, and some butter and cheese that I need.
I’ll give you these coins. Keep the change once you’ve paid. You’d be doing a very good deed.
I don’t leave my manor not at night or at day. No I never will leave this place.
If you do this for me I will pay you each time, he said with a smile on his face.

Off I skipped to the market to purchase the goods for as cheap as could possibly be.
I returned to the house. The grand old house. The one as big as a tree.
The young man was grateful. He hopped about. Thanking me once and again.
He asked if I’d come back next week for the same, at around a quarter past ten.

From then on, each Sunday at a quarter past ten, I’d stop past the house of the man.
I’d gather his list, his coins and his smiles and go off with my cash and my plan.

In my head, sometimes I would wonder why the young man never left his old place.
After weeks I decided I’d ask him, so I finished my chores with some haste.

When I got to his house and I asked the young man why he stayed in and never went out.
He looked confused and shifted around then said “what you talking about?
Of course I can’t leave. Can’t you see why? There may not be fences and chains.
But if I leave my old house, I could never come back, and that would cause me great pain.
My old house is lonely. It has only me, to keep it company all day.
And at night when it’s quiet my house needs a friend so this is the price that I pay.”

I nodded with earnest as though it made sense though he could have been speaking Chinese.
The old house looked like it had been there for years, and I could not hear its sad pleas.
“It pains me” he thoughtfully added “to stay in this grand house each day, but what can I do? It is lonely. I’ll have been here for six years in May.”
While I look at the other men working, and driving and visiting friends,
Don’t you think I am jealous and saddened? But I’m stuck in this house till the end.
It’s not my fault that I can’t leave. I do it for lack of a choice.
Poor old house would be lost without me.” he finished in a very small voice.

So I made him a deal. Yes I told him, that with his groceries I’d bring something more.
Tales of the world he was missing. To this I solemnly swore.
The young man was thrilled at the promise, of seeing the world through my eyes
He clapped and he danced and thanked me three times before we said our goodbyes.

So I brought him his eggs and his flour, I always made sure to include
A story of what I had seen through the week about friends, parties, people and food.
Oh how he loved all my tales. He said he’d had tales of his own.
Long before the old house needed him all the time. A time where such fear was unknown.
The old houses fear he assured me, was steady and strong as the night.
It wouldn’t you see, be fair if he tried, to resist or put up a fight.

As I grew, so did my stories. I shared them as best as I could.
I shared them each week and he soaked up each word and swore that he’d leave if he could.