Exiting the taxi, it is difficult to see the house as the trees have grown up around the walls and through the floors and the roof is missing.
Squinting I can imagine how glorious it must have once been - and will be again.
There's a beautiful old Magnolia in the front and I think to myself that it must be saved, even if it means building the house around it. It will remind me of Moss Pond and my old life.
Astonishingly, the roses are abundant, even after years of neglect. When times get tough, as they are sure to, I'll remember the tenacity of these roses. They, too, will have a home.
Venturing further onto the land, I get a sense of isolation, even though I've neighbors nearby. Giving myself a little hug, I savor the quiet knowing it won't be long before my days will be marred by a cacophony of noise as the house is razed, trees are trimmed and weeds are pulled.
Circling the property, even a novice can see that the house is unlivable, as well as unsafe. Make no doubt about it, I'm disappointed but convinced it will make little difference. A home is more than four walls...it's a place you can call your own...a refuge...sanctuary... Starting over, all of this will be a part of my new life, building my story as I build my home.
Auntie left me a few Simoleons - not enough to rebuild but surely enough for a fresh start. While I can't afford to stay in a hotel, I'm sure I can swing a few bucks for a used tent at the Army Surplus store. Like I said, home is more than four walls!
My name is Lea Gacy and this is the first day of the rest of my life. Cliche, I know, but several events in my life, one upon another,
are giving me the push I need to leave my little world and venture out into a much bigger one. Few have ever heard of my small town, population 43 - well, 42 now! I was born there but I refuse to die there, too. Before today, the farthest I've been is nearby Riverview, still mostly rural but many times larger than Moss Pond, USA.
Anyway, I'm a stranger here in Bridgeport. No one will have ever met or heard of me, making me a clean slate. What they'll know is that I'm here with an inheritance, taking up residence in a broken down home that's been sitting vacant ever since my Auntie, who owned this house before passing it on to me - such as it is - died the day after I was born when the light plane she was in overshot the emergency landing planned for Main Street and took a "dive" into the very pond for which my birth city was named. That means this poor old house has been vacant for 20 years, 9 months and 15 days. It's unlikely that many people will even remember childless, unmarried Auntie, making my origins ripe for re-writing.
It's not like there's much behind me anyway. Auntie passed but I didn't know about her existence until recently when I found the will in my mother's possessions, which I was sorting through after Mama's untimely, but longed for, death. What I mean is, Daddy and I never met because he died in Desert Shield when I was barely 4 months old, breaking Mama's heart and leaving her pining for her true love until her last breath. Auntie was Daddy's sister but Mama never spoke a word of her out-loud. Maybe too much time passed between the event of the plane crash and an age when I would understand such things or maybe she was just too sorrowful to think on it, especially with Daddy being gone and all. As you might imagine, Mama never remarried so it was just me and her all that time and, with Mama so lost in the past, mostly just me. Now it's truly just me...and my inheritance.
It's not much, just a bit of land on a hill with what remains of a once grand home. My inquiries to the lawyers of Auntie's estate produced some old photos of the house several years after losing it's owner and I imagined it residing there, it's roots clinging to the earth, dreaming of a time when it was again noticed...and tended with loving care. I might be a bit fanciful but I knew that my poor little life with a distracted and unintentionally neglectful mother mirrored that of this shell of a home and that we were meant to heal each other. Upon my signature, the lawyers reluctantly wished me luck, passing me a large yellow envelope containing an ornate key, paper deed, bank account information, and a map.
Grabbing up my few belongings, I eagerly caught the bus south and, a short taxi ride later, arrived just as you see. It's hard to explain how the very air beckons to me, even as it becomes apparent that I'll not be using the key provided such a short time ago. The house will have to be rebuilt and the gardens cleared, but I am home. I am Lea Gacy and this is the first day of the rest of my life...
Exiting the taxi, it is difficult to see the house as the trees have grown up around the walls and through the floors and the roof is missing. 
Astonishingly, the roses are abundant, even after years of neglect. When times get tough, as they are sure to, I'll remember the tenacity of these roses. They, too, will have a home.
Circling the property, even a novice can see that the house is unlivable, as well as unsafe. Make no doubt about it, I'm disappointed but convinced it will make little difference. A home is more than four walls...it's a place you can call your own...a refuge...sanctuary... Starting over, all of this will be a part of my new life, building my story as I build my home.
