Thick Description

I recently returned to my previous place of residence here in town--a moderately-sized red brick house known as the Austin House--to retrieve my friend's scooter that had been safely parked there in the lot behind the house while he and his wife were away for the summer in Cambodia.

It was a grey day, just beginning to sprinkle rain, when I first returned to the Austin House. I was surprised to find the lot behind the house completely vacant as I pulled into my familiar spot there. Apparently none of the current residents were home. It was strange to see the place so empty. There had been 8 of us living there before, and even with all of our varying schedules it was nearly impossible to find yourself home alone.

I walked up to the side wall of the house to take a closer look at the rich red bricks, almost all of which were  chipped with age (the exterior of the house was 90+ years old after all). I ran my hand across them to see if they were indeed there and if they were indeed the same bricks that had held the 8 of us in so adequately that past year. They were solid and rough.

I turned around the corner to descend the concrete steps to the front door of the basement level where my old room was located. I was again greeted by a strikingly naked scene: there was no longer the rusty old BBQ grill, no longer my bundled car cover, no pairs of shoes too muddy to store inside--just a lone scrap of carpet serving as a makeshift doormat. I stood on the carpet as I knocked on the door, knocking so that if by chance there was someone home they might give me a quick tour of the place and the adjustments that had been made to now make it their home, but no one answered.

Satisfied with my inspection, yet still confused slightly by the once active and inviting home's drastic change in demeanor, I returned to the rear of the house to jump on the scooter. As I wobbled my way down the driveway on the rickety old machine, I looked back on the old house one last time, perhaps in the hope of catching one last glimpse of the construction again imbued with its former vitality--but nothing moved. There were no sounds. An epoch had ended, and all was quiet.