Two houses dwell on the same road not far from where I live.  Glassless windows stare at me as I drive by.  Roofs are caving in from years of neglect and the houses seem very sad.  Their paint is chipped; their frames are gray. How old they are, it’s hard to know but, it has been years since anyone has taken care of them. Grasses grow tall and free within the yards. Weeds are plentiful and grow in great profusion.  Shade trees still adorn the yards supplying the only beauty. 

These houses have remained standing through wind and storm but, they are empty and unloved.  Drab and unkempt, they really are not a pretty sight.  At one time, perhaps, they were very lovely places but, who sees that loveliness now?  Therefore, I cannot help but wonder, if these houses could talk, what would they say?    

What did they look like when they were new?  Were they excited as their families moved in?  What could they tell me about the lives they have lived?         As I travel past these houses, I think about the people that may have belonged to them.  Had there been just one family that occupied their dwellings or were there more?  So many scenarios present themselves to me as I reflect on what used to   be. I can picture the women preparing the meals for their families, and the men coming home tired after a long day on the job. 

The men would greet their wives with a kiss as the children scampered about begging for their fathers’ attention?     If these houses could talk, oh the tales they would tell. They would tell stories of children laughing, games played, and songs sung.  Their walls would recall the tenderness displayed by the fathers’ toward their wives and children. Bedtime stories would be read and goodnight prayers would be said. The children would be tucked into bed with lots of hugs, kisses, tickles and “I love you.”  If each house could talk, perhaps this is what they would say.   

  They would relate all of the good times that each family had and, in somberness tell of the heartaches that took place. There would be tales of misery and pain but the families persevered.  Perhaps the fathers had been in the war.  Maybe one survived and one did not.  One wife welcomed her husband home and, the other wife became a widow.  One wife was thankful her husband was alive while, the other wife faced being a single mother. Still, the one house was filled with love and, this love helped the mother stay strong.  

   If these houses could talk then I would really listen to their stories.  I would truly love to know their history.  I find myself compelled to know the details surrounding these houses. 

What happened to the people that belonged to them?  Where did they go and, why did they leave?  The parents grew old and eventually passed away. Perhaps, the children did not want to come back to the little town they had grown up in.  Maybe these houses were sold or just left empty.  Why hasn’t anyone taken the time to repair them?  How come no one lives inside their wall any more? 

    As I write this now, only one house remains.  The other one was torn down and, the ground lies vacant and hollow.  I was sad to see the house destroyed.  I have driven by these houses thousands of times and, I would always watch them looking at me.  Only the earth could tell me now of the events that took place on that land.  The remaining house belongs in my heart and it is mine to keep.  I will pass by with admiration because it still stands after all these years.  Even though it’s hard to understand why this house has remained unlived in. 

 I have to believe that when a family dwelled within its walls, there was love, joy, and compassion. I cannot imagine it any other way.  

   I will probably never know the answers to the questions that I have posed. Still, I will wonder from time to time as I drive by this old, dilapidated house, if it could talk, what secrets would it reveal to me?