Studio Renee

9:29am | 1/24/24

In the center room, there is a red brick fireplace. Wood logs to feed it are laying outside next to the small green shed in the backyard. The kitchen window is framed in thin lace cafe curtains that defuse the bright afternoon light. The dark wood table is always covered in a patterned table runner, mail, and bowls of fruit. 

The front room holds tiny figurines, religious, like baby Jesus and the Virgin Mary surrounded by all their friends, the Saints. Garfield posters on the wall are faded in the first bedroom on the right. Linens are kept in that closet. Guitars and a keyboard are propped up in the next room over, heavily used. 

The room tucked in the corner with the loud chiming clock has a small, square tv for evening news and daytime telenovelas. A sewing machine next to the laundry room. A blue Cowboys cap hangs from a hook by the backdoor. That door closes on its own, leading into the backyard with rose bushes and a swing and a basketball hoop all covered with mulberries the wind blows down from the trees.

The house creaked and danced.

The fireplace ledge was the perfect stage to strum a guitar after the last round of presents were unwrapped on a Christmas evening. The dark wood table became an island where hot coffee and conversions long overdue were paired with dessert and trying to get a word in on overlapping stories. 

The front room was spacious enough to hold a mountain of blankets and pillows and piles of giggling cousins being shushed when the lights went off. The guitars and keyboard came to life with a chorus of off-key belting while the singing babies bounced on the bed to the vibrations and rhythm the eclectic symphony made. 

The tiny tv in the end room glowed with bright blue light that spilled onto small faces who sat cross-legged on the floor while the rain outside poured down.

The pink wall in the center room was wallpapered with portraits and letters that transformed as the paint faded. There were round baby grins and sleek school portraits that reshaped into graduation caps and wedding gowns. The green paint and brown trim on the outside of the house started to peel as the inside of the house grew and expanded and bloomed.  

The sun is warm and always shining. 

The backyard is overgrowing, rose bushes and fig trees creep outside their stations onto the brick walkway. The unmowed grass is dancing excitedly with the wind, escaping their usual fate while they share their wealth with the weeds in the cracks of the patio and flower pots. The porch swing sits empty and only moves lazily with the breeze. 

Mail is piling up on the table, addresses and overdue stamps staring reproachfully up to the sky, illuminated by the warm afternoon light filtered by the lace on the windows. Gifts and flowers and photos are lining the countertops, needing to be sorted and thanked. The fridge is filling up with sweetly rotting salads and takeout containers needing to be emptied and tossed. The tv is quiet, for once.

Blankets are brought out to cover shivering shoulders while the repairman fixes the broken heater. Polite conversations and soothing colloquy are being made over the phone, pacing on the cold tile floor. Boxes and suitcases are sitting patiently at the front door, waiting to be filled with the precious and the practical. 

Extra socks and sweaters are packed, tissues packed, wallet and keys, check. The heavy front door closes, gently.