Our House

I did something today I promised myself I would never do again, but I just couldn't help myself. I was drawn in like a moth to the flame. Like flies to shit. Like...why do these analogies include bugs? I hate bugs, they are creepy crawly....sorry. I'm back. I'm distressed by what I saw today. And in order to fix this distress, I'm going to need about a million dollars. I'm a little distressed about that too.

I'm in my hometown in Jersey this week, and one of my favorite things to do is ride my bike on the boardwalk in Ventnor, then on down to Margate (no boardwalk in Margate, it got washed away in a hurricane before I was born) and then down to the Longport Point. I grew up in Margate, in a fabulous house, one of those houses that people still talk about with fond memories. It was the house that made everyone feel welcome. I was shattered when we had to sell it, but unfortunately I had little say in the matter being that I was only 12. There was a lot of family strife going on at the time, and our house was a casualty of war.

So today I took my bike and went for a ride. It's a perfect day here, not too hot, not too cool, light breeze. I was having a wonderful ride. And then I did it. I tried to stop myself but my bike seemed to have a mind of its own. I rode up to my old street. I stopped. I parked my bike. And I sat in front of our old house.

And I cried.

I didn't cry because seeing the house brings back memories - even though it does. I didn't cry because I resent that we had to sell it - well, not anymore I don't. And I didn't cry because of how much I miss living here at the shore - even though I do. I cried because our house, the house that so many people loved and still love to this day, is now the shabby house on the street.

Nothing has been done to it. Nothing. No gardening. No painting. No sprucing up. Nothing in over 20 years. It sits there - peeling, chipping, rusting; with broken windows and long-dead rosebushes. It is, in a word, unloved. It has not been loved since we moved away all those years ago.

And even worse than being unloved, it is empty. Nobody is there to live in this wonderful, warm, welcoming home. Nobody appreciates the basement that was a speakeasy during prohibition, and all the spooky rooms where the hooch was hidden. The porch with the ocean views. The beautiful stained glass windows. The marble fireplace we sat in front of on cold winter nights. The tiny backyard where our dogs would play. The amazing architecture, the hand-made crown molding, the gorgeous parquet floors (oh I'm sorry, the gorgeous parquet floors are covered with carpet now, the one thing the buyers did do to the house. Who the fuck carpets parquet floors???)

To backtrack a bit, we sold the house because we had to - long long story that I don't wish to go into here. It was just before the casinos really hit in Atlantic City, and the buyers got their summer home for a song. A summer home. My house became a "summer home". Nauseating. A year later it had quadrupled in value. Today it is worth 10 times what we sold it for. Despite their good luck due to our family misfortune, the new owners never truly had the chance to enjoy their summer home. Shortly after they bought it, their daughter was killed in an accident. I don't think they ever really recovered from her death. Now they are very old, and very ill. They have issues with their remaining son. (I found all this out from the next door neighbors, who when I told them that I had grown up in the house - and they saw my distrees - were more than willing to fill me in.) And so the house sits, run-down and neglected. A casualty of war again.

When I saw it today I felt like it was calling out to me - as if it is waiting for one of us to come back - wondering what it did to deserve to be abandoned and ignored. I am terrified that it will be sold and torn down like Maloney's; like so many of the beautiful old homes here at the shore. I just can't let that happen to our house.

And so I need a million dollars, at least, to save our house. Lottery tickets, prayer, and begging are all included in the first plan of action. I haven't worked out the second plan yet. Clearly if I knew how to make a million dollars - I would already have a million dollars. Maybe even two.

I'm definitely a little distressed.