Arnold’s wish for his 93rd birthday was straightforward but profound: he wanted to hear the laughter of his children reverberate through his home for the very last time. The dining table was decked up with his finest linens, the turkey was positioned in a golden and fragrant manner, and candles flickered softly, throwing shadows of optimism. Despite this, the sole sound that could be heard passed by as the hours passed. Then, there was a knock at the door, but it was not the person he had been anticipating all along.
Similar to Arnold himself, the cottage that was located at the end of Maple Street had seen better days in its existence. Both had been worn down by time, causing fissures in the walls as well as in the heart of the 92-year-old resident of the house. Arnold was sitting in his favorite armchair, which had a leather that was worn and faded, and Joe, his devoted orange tabby, was purring peacefully in his lap. He stroked his hands reflexively through Joe’s fur, finding solace in the old cadence of their silent company, despite the fact that his hands were no longer stable.
The images that were arranged on the mantle were illuminated by the sunlight that penetrated the dusty windows in the afternoon. There were frozen moments from a life that had once been full of joy that stared back at Arnold: Bobby with his mischievous grin and scraped knees, Jenny clutching her beloved doll Bella, Michael beaming as he held his first trophy, Sarah radiant in her graduation gown, and Tommy on his wedding day, which was so reminiscent of Arnold’s younger self.
“The house remembers them, Joe,” Arnold mumbled, his voice tinged with melancholy as he traced faded pencil markings on the wall. “The house remembers them.” Arnold and his late wife, Mariam, meticulously maintained a record of their childhood heights, and each line represented a significant milestone. He burst out in a chuckle, “This one’s from when Bobby decided that baseball practice should be held inside,” as tears threatened to spill from his eyes. Mary was unable to contain her anger. He would look at his mother and remark, “Mama, I’m just practicing to be like Daddy.”
