The news hit us pretty hard. We knew
what it probably was, but we hoped we were wrong. We knew for certain
now. Our house had cancer.
It started when my son fell down the
stairs. Thankfully, he was fine besides a few bruises. He said he
tripped over a lump in the carpet. I went up the stairs and saw the
lump. There were several more on the railing. I told my wife that
this could be serious and we called an inspector.
The inspector came over while my wife
and I were at work and our son at school. When we all got back, the
inspector was waiting for us out front. He gave us the bad news.
He said it looked like the tumors had
probably started up in the attic. Had we found it then, it might have
been treatable. But it had spread too much at that point.
I still can't help but blame myself. A
house that old was very prone to disease. I should have had him
checked on regular basis.
The only thing we could do now was
have him put down.
We found a two bedroom apartment near
downtown. It was much smaller but it would fit our needs. We moved as
fast as we could. We didn't want our old house to suffer too long.
I scheduled the demolition. It would
be a quick and painless implosion. On the day the crew came to do it,
we went to say goodbye.
Our son was probably hit the hardest.
After all, he lived there since he was born. We sat in the empty
living room. My wife and I reminisced on when we first moved in after
we got married.
The crew told us that everything was
rigged and it was time to leave. We got in the car. My son was
bawling. My wife had tears running down her cheeks. I kept having to
wipe my eyes as I started the car.
As we drove off, we heard the loud
rumbling. Then the sound of debris falling. Then nothing.
_____________
BIO: Ben Arzate lives in Des Moines,
Iowa. He writes and he lives life. Sometimes he forgets to do the
latter. His work has been published in Sketch and at Keep
This Bag Away From Children. He can be found at
dripdropdripdropdripdrop.blogspot.com.
Funny yet poignant. Nice job.
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