The house hasn’t changed much
Katie Ann Lee, 2T5 Fitz
The house hasn’t changed much.
I can hear the TV on in the kitchen and my mother chopping vegetables. I know if I were to walk into the room at that moment, I’d be greeted by the smell of pasta because it’s Tuesday. There’d be a bowl of cut-up fruit at my seat at the counter, and my mother would be lit by the late afternoon light coming through the window. On the TV, there’d either be the news or the soap she’s been watching longer than I’ve been alive. She’s not sentimental about most things, but this show seems to have her heart.
Music seeps through my sister’s closed bedroom door. I recognize the song; it’s one that I sent to her last week. It’s a school night, and I know behind the door, she’s sitting at her desk with her legs crossed on a crooked office chair. She’s reading the same calc textbook that I used four years before, but she definitely understands more of the subject than I ever did. A stack of papers sits atop a sewing machine, and miscellaneous art supplies are scattered about the room. There are several lamps on at once, and I think this is the perfect representation of her controlled, creative chaos.
The door alarm chimes twice as my father gets home from work. I can hear him toss his car keys into the basket by the door before making his way to the kitchen. I know he’ll get a glass of water for himself, and then another for the tomato plant that he’s been growing. The plant was a seemingly random project to take on, but one that I knew he’d succeed at. His continued and regular care has helped the dirt and seeds turn into a plant that’s almost taller than me. Standing by the backyard door, he’ll mention something about a plan to clean the deck on the weekend so we can have family over. He’ll stand at the window a little while longer, thinking about these things in the way that he does, before calling us down for an early dinner.
When I’m anxious, I’ve learned to reach for the things I know to be true. And since the minute I was old enough to think, it’s been them. At home, time stands still at 5 pm on a Tuesday.
