The Beholder

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My home

My Home’s Scheme of Lonely Trees

I stopped going to my usual café. It wasn’t out of saving money – ‘cause I do not have any basically, but I’ve got a feeling wondering about its uses? You can have your own tea mug here at home. Watching TV you never did. Friends you can just call or meet them occasionally. Reviewing the objects you are always neglecting in your house. My Auntie’s face, which began to grow older after the good lady’s death. Those wooden stair steps echoing the tapping of cats’ legs. That tree in the so-called ‘garden’. You vaguely remember another one that was tiny and shy but it seems like your old-fashioned tree was not in favor of newcomers.

How did that tiny little tree disappear? Was it melodramatic action? A Murder? Nah! Your old fashioned tree couldn’t do such a thing. It’s a good tree indeed. Who can judge anybody for feelings? She just didn’t like the tiny tree. So it was a suicide? That tiny sensitive tree eliminated itself when it understood that it was not welcome in your community? I couldn’t assure anything.

I looked at the floor thinking and I was both happy and astonished at that river of new thoughts and significant sparkles, which have been quenched only by staying home.

My Home’s Birthday

They say it was been built in 1902. I don’t know myself ’cause I wasn’t there, and I didn’t see any papers telling me the exact date of pulling up that great 15-walled building. Then I may wonder about the difference between 1902 and 1904 or 1917, even 1731. My Aunt gives its rocks many touches of affection. Deep and crystal clear ones, even if she usually talks persuasively to her Aunties about selling the house that could bring them millions. That house we both lived in. She gave away her first screams as a just-been-born baby thought. I have been born in a house I do not love, and merely went to. She also had been married here; lived with a silly man who went after only one year to have another wife. We are living here now. Eating. Watching TV. Laughing and crying; shouting and whispering. Though we used to have birthdays. I stopped holding birthdays since I was 11. Always He watches and never called for one of his own. Maybe we should think about making a will to our grandsons – if we have some, and if He still stands – to make him a millennium party. But only if I was assured He was there since 1902.

My Home’s Stadium

I was a little kid who still got the lust for playing football with many kids who used to visit their Grandma who living in our house. Sneaking is the only way to begin a game before unleashing our joyful crying and naughty laughing, then my Grandma’s sister appears from her balcony, yelling with a nervous tone I know very well in my family. Naming us and whoever brought us bloody life to make it even a misery for her. We usually continue running as playing, but everyone to their Grandma’s apartment. I really felt hatred towards her. They say she used to steal from the family’s income of two rented buildings along with our origin here. I do not care about it but I do when it comes to an old story tells she once hit her elder sister whom is my Grandma. I stopped lusting after football. I can’t help but hate that woman, even if she cried a lot when my Grandma died.

My Home and My Grandma

She used to adore that house. Not as only a place for us to live, but as an achievement of her father, the creature most beloved in the universe. It is the house of my father. That is how she always refused selling it. I can admit she wasn’t the one in charge, thanks to her strange worship for ‘daddy’ and such an iron relation between them. That earned her envy that spread like fire when the old man died. She wasn’t in charge but she always said ‘no’. Even after a while, when she grew old and got along with her daughter’s wills, I felt she was hiding her refusal under a thick skin. She used to say phrases like ‘such a beautiful house’ and ‘how marvelous and steady it was built’. Had many stories to tell me when I was a child about Satan’s goat legs, which you can hear moving after midnight. That is why they always have a lamp above the doorway, and how once she had heard him knocking at the door. Did you open the door? No! I would be crazy to do that! She used to tell me about her father’s cats. He owned a Kebab restaurant, a huge one near our home. Cats were all over the restaurant waiting for any sort of kind passing to them. You know! But one day, Father got us a Persian cat. It was very lovely and so adorable and we name it Koky. It used to stand in the yard every night and wait for him. Once it saw him it ran at him and pushed its body against his legs with an exaggerated purr!

You know what? What, Grandma? It was like it talked to him…yeah…when it was just sitting beside him and gave him its greeting looks. I told Grandma that it must adore him. Grandma saw it then said yes it did, very, very much. It loves him the way it died a month after his death. I looked at her sad smile, and felt some fear.

My Home, My Grandma and my ex

As soon as she entered the yard, she told me that my house matches perfectly to what she imagined. I was thrilled to be showing her my residence for the first time. Ten minutes earlier, it popped into my head when she asked me when I could bring her the first draft of a novel that I wrote. I asked her if she would like to escort me home so she can take it at once. I left her standing before our partition front door, looking around observing the mythical building she always heard of. My Aunt was annoyed that she was there and blamed me for bringing her to our untidy basement we lived in. I told her it was just fine. My Grandma looked at me and smiled. She couldn’t get out to greet my ex, but my Aunt did. It was her first meeting with my ex and she was just happy and embarrassed. After handing her the draft, while walking the streets, she told me she wanted to meet the old lady but she was shy to ask. I replied it would happen as soon as I could.

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