Stair-Crossed Lovers

    I had my first love when I was 15. There was a glitch in my budding romance, we lived in separate towns. Whenever we would go to my beloved's town I would always stare out the window hoping to catch just one glimpse. I knew that if we were ever truly together it would be forever, and we could live happily ever after. Sitting in the backseat of my parent's car I would beg them to take me around the block so I could have the chance to see my love and say what I felt, but it can hard to tell a house how you feel.

Turret=Love

    This was no ordinary house, oh no, this house was an old Victorian. It had this gorgeous dusty orange brick on the outside and the coolest turret on the front. My love struck eyes ignored the overgrown weeds and the obvious state of dilapidation the house was in. Each time I saw the house my love for it grew and my heart broke to think of it sitting there all empty and neglected. I would love it and care for it so it would never be abandoned again. The beauty of love and imagination is that money is never an object. In my fantasies I magically acquired the deed to the house, the means to fix it up, and original Victorian furniture to fill it with. I was so obsessed with getting this home that I would have actual dreams that involved me buying it and fixing it. I'm sure by now you've noticed there are a few things wrong with this picture, first and foremost what is mentally wrong with this kid? Second of all, what 15 year-old falls in love with a house? And thirdly what 15 year-old thinks she can fix it up by herself with just an after school minimum wage job to support her? Being the realist that I was I knew my chances of ever even seeing the inside of the home were slim, but that all changed one October day.

Sarcasm=Blindfold

   We had a day off from school, and I was thrilled beyond belief. For some reason I hated being forced to go to an establishment between the hours of 8:30 and 3:15 for five days a week to learn, go figure. I was voicing the joy I had of sleeping in to my parents, when they told me I would not be sleeping in. "Why not?", I asked them very indignantly. "It's a surprise.", they answered. This really piqued my interest and I kept peppering them with questions, none of which were answered. Finally, they got fed up with me and told me to go to bed. The next morning arrived and they told me to get dressed and ready to go. As we walked toward the car I asked them sarcastically if they were going to put a blind-fold on me...they did. Now my curiosity was off the charts and I had no idea what was going on. My dad drove the car all around the country side and had me thoroughly confused. I felt the car lurch to a stop and my parents told me to take off my blind fold. Removing the dark fabric from my eyes I blinked up at the most beautiful sight I had ever seen, it was My House.
    My parents explained that even though there was no way they'd be able to buy it for me(it was a freaking house after all), they had been able to arrange a tour. The realtor led us up to the front door and carefully opened it. There was so much adrenaline running through my veins it felt like I was floating. Stepping into that house was the most amazing experience. She led us around the tattered home describing the history of the house, even tracing it back to the original owners. I lovingly ran my hand along the railing as we made our way upstairs, hardly believing this was happening. We got the whole tour, from the attic to the basement and I was so in love I was at a loss for words. I was barely able to stammer out a thank you to the realtor when we found our way back onto the front step. Instead of my love diminishing at the sight of disrepair, my 15 year-old heart began to swell with even more tenderness for My House.

Hanging Lamp=Fantastic

   About two years after I met my love, it was bought by someone else. My heart was torn in two as I realized I would not be the one to lovingly fix and beautify every inch of My House. When we would drive by I could see the scaffolding shoved up against the gorgeous dusty orange brick. I was glad someone else loved My House and was taking care of it, but I couldn't help but wish I'd had the means to take care of it myself. One day when the repairs were all finished my dad said we should stop by and see if they would let us look in. My House had been turned into business offices and who better to go to a business office than people(that's what I told myself anyway to make it less awkward). The owner was in and she gave us the tour. Every corner of My House had been brought back to life, and it was beautiful. A large Tiffany-esqu lamp hung from the inside of the turret making a place that would be perfect for reading. A bittersweet smiled came to my lips as I looked at all the love that had been poured into fixing My House.
    Not all love stories have a happy ending, but at least this one is happier than Romeo and Juliet...I'm almost positive no one died. While My House was never able to be my one true love, at least it got the care it needed from someone who loved it just as much. Each time My House and I cross paths I am able to look up at it and smile, knowing that someday another dilapidated Victorian will capture my heart. But I know that even when that house comes along it will never take the place of My House, my first real love.