2 May 2020

The world has been shut down for almost two months. No one is allowed to go anywhere without wearing a mask and testing for a virus that has spread like lightning around the entire globe. In this time, I have been working from home, staring out the window of my office to the backyard and the old woods behind it.

This house belonged to my grandparents once upon a time, and before them, a wealthy widow from North Carolina. A bitter old woman, she left nothing to her children after she passed and let her gorgeous New England estate crumble into ruins. My grandfather found this house as a young man and told my grandmother that this was going to be their house when they were married. The garden was overgrown with ivy and the house was in shambles. Granny, Lord bless her, took it in stride, never letting a challenge win over her. They renovated it together and started a family here. Granny nurtured the garden into the most spectacular sight the neighborhood had seen in years.

My father and his four siblings grew up in this home. Its old bones and worn out wallpaper speak memories of food fights, wrestling matches, sports, proms, and all the other hallmarks of a rambunctious family of seven. After high school, most of my aunts and uncles moved out and away from New Hampshire, saying they felt trapped and wanted to hunt for better opportunities in the world. Some were more successful than others, but they all ended up relatively happy in their own right. My father was the only one who stayed. Though he is the youngest, he noticed my grandmother’s failing health and decided to stay behind in case anything happened. They all knew Gramps would be useless without her.

Pops went to a local college and was fortunate enough to be near a decent medical school. He became a doctor practicing in family medicine, even extending some appointments to evenings in this house. Pops met Mama in medical school, they got married, started a private practice together, had me, and the rest is history.

After Granny passed, Gramps decided to give Pops the house on the condition he could stay there until he became a burden. We moved here in my second year of middle school. In his retirement, Gramps kept up with the lawncare and housework as best he could, but he couldn’t keep up with the garden like Granny could. It became slightly overgrown on the edges and places he couldn’t quite reach. Mama and Pops were always busy with work, so Gramps was my companion for most days after school. We talked about everything and nothing.

Years passed, and my grandfather’s health became an issue. As promised, he elected to move into a senior home, despite our protests. This large house became lonely and cold without him and Granny dwelling within it, and the garden was completely lost to nature again.

Now, I’m an adult with a regular desk job and boring hobbies. My parents are retired and spend much of their time in New Orleans, saying it’s their spiritual home. They have decided to hunker down there for now, and I remain in this dusty old estate alone. Only the old orange tabby that has taken up residence in the decrepit garden shed interrupts my days now. Every night, it yowls until I set a small dish of food out on the porch. Then, it trots up the steps and greets me by nudging my hand and digging into the free meal.

My days have been this way for two solitary months. Wake up, start my day, work on my laptop, attend meetings online, finish work, drift through the rest of the day until the old tomcat yowls. After feeding him, I feed myself, bathe, and go to bed. Wash, rinse, repeat. I’m tired of it. I must find something to do to break this cycle.

Author's Note

My first posted story
This is a fictional journal based on a writing prompt