Memories
Ivan never understood until now. Only a year after Alfred died, Ivan couldn't do it anymore. The house had started echoing, loud and clear and... lonely. He remembered the words Alfred had said.
"Baaaabe! It's perfect! All... It's great." He had been smiling and flushed. Beautiful.
The day Ivan saw the house, he had worried about Alfred's sanity. It was old and tilting. Cracks in the wood paneling. The inside though was... large and open. Filled with dusty old furniture, covered with plastic. It even smelled old.
"The master bedroom is amazing."'Alfred had said, pulling Ivan up a flight of hidden stairs. The master bedroom was nice. A large four poster bed complete with a white silk canopy that flowed to the dust covered floor. Another wrinkly plastic cover was tucked over the mattress.
"What'd ya think babe?" Alfred's smile was contagious, and Ivan pushed him gently onto their new bed, kissing with passion.
Almost 20 years later, Ivan stood alone, a black tuxedo clad, on the porch. The door swung open as he walked through, and the smell was now a deep woodsy. New furniture had replaced the old, a flat screen hung on the wall; but it was still the house. Different, more modern in a way. Ivan had climbed up the stairs, remembering Alfred running down them with a paint covered apron on, tackle hugging and kissing him.
"I painted the room." He had smiled.
Now there was no Alfred, no smiling face to come home to. It was buried away, in a sealed box 6 feet under. Ivan didn't make it up the stairs the first night. He crumpled, holding himself and sobbing, rocking against the wall.
Only one year now. Ivan shoved the 'For Sale' sign into the ground. He huffed, tears flooding his eyes.
"It's better this way." He said. He couldn't do it anymore. He had stopped trying to sleep under that silk canopy and started renting a flat. When he couldn't do that, it was moving in with his sister.
His tired violet eyes looked over the house, it still tilted. The beautiful sunflowers Alfred had planted had long wilted, the brown leaves littering the grass. Ivan gulped away tears, but it failed. He fell to his knees, shuddering. His sister found him there about an hour later, after a neighbor called.
When it was sold, to a bustling new couple who boasted about wedding plans as Ivan showed them the house.
"It has to be you Ivan." His sister had said.
They seemed excited, but Ivan didn't. He scorned at them, at their plans about taking down walls and adding another bathroom. He almost left then. Tears had pricked in his eyes and he sniffed them down.
The couple bought the house, and when Ivan drove by one day, for memories sake, it looked... Horrible.
Fresh paint and new windows. The couple had ruined it. He slammed the break and ran to it. Screaming and pounding on the walls. How dare they... Alfred's house. Their home. The couple had come out and yelled at him, what was he doing, why was he here. But Ivan just kept hitting the wall, sobbing in torturous waves. The cops were called.
He was dragged home, back to the lonely twin mattress. It wasn't really home, with his sister. Home was where the heart is. His heart was at the house. Hidden somewhere in the dusty floorboards. Painted over. It was with Alfred.