“We can’t live here.”
“Sure, it’s a fixer upper certainly,” I say as I step aside. Dodge a piece of ceiling lodged loose by the recent destruction befell on the entire structure. “There is a reason that people sell things on the cheap.”
“Right, but there is cheap,” Natalie slides her finger along the wall leading to the finger quickly going straight through. “And there is condemnable.”
She is right. Natalie, when she says this place is near being a slight gust away from laying down. But there is so much promise here. Just with this little piece of assembled wood. The house of so many memories. Even the least of which should be enough to give me a little inspiration to but in a little effort on my part. Try to resuscitate. Either with my wife. Or alone. Sleeping on the floor of this place. In a red sleeping bag on the floor. Praying the roof would not come down on me in the middle of my slumber. Knew a guy who went that way. Just trying to bring down a simple little ole storage building that had been outgrown by the growing families need. Tie a rope to the center beam and pull. Easy does it. But the first two yanks were unsuccessful. Maybe the rope is loose. Famous last words before Jack walked inside, yanked, and brought the whole thing crashing down. Crushing him together like an accordion. Playing tunes in heaven now.
“Well, what do you want to do then? We sure can’t afford anything new and you swore against buying a mobile home even if it is solid as a rock mounted in the ground.”
“Only way a house stays where it is suppose to is if it is built with beams in the ground.”
A fair point and probably half of which would be why even if Natalie caved on getting a mobile home, I would put in a veto. Growing up in the general landscape of the panhandle of Texas, there were just too many mobile homes broken in two laying on their sides after a storm for me to ever forget the unsafe nature of a house that can be thrown on a truck and driven cross country. And that movie Twister too.
“So, then we are back here.” The third of our party, Linda Street, an independent real estate agent (says her business card) seems to have disappeared. Maybe the seemingly emanate collapse of the kitchen was a little much for her to tempt her fate this morning. She already had pulled aces once this morning. A pregnancy strip being the bathroom trash’s only contents and I know it is fresh. I mistook it for something else and tried to pull it out before dropping it right back down inside after feeling the moisture and seeing the – sign.
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