By Jordano Wright

One day, you’d wake up. To the sound of silence, in a house that was once never quiet. And it would be deafening. I wish I could slow down the clock, the minute hands move forward at brilliant speed. That said, everything moves faster than me. I’ve been stuck in the same place for all my life. But despite my sedentary existence, it hasn’t been only solitary.

​

I was born into a symphonic life, once resonating in the cacophony of construction - men plodding, hammers smashing my skin, walls rising and floors settling. In those initial moments, I found myself merely an observer in this evolving world. The vivid image imprinted on my large red brick face was a blend of men adorned in orange hard hats and neon green vests, their figures reflecting the sun's brilliance directly into my eyes. 

​

As time unfolded, their relentless efforts transformed the once skeletal structure, echoing with calls and commands, into the smooth, full white glory that stands today. Floors, once solid and unyielding, underwent a metamorphosis, trading their initial firmness for the luxurious embrace of a soft, carpeted cushion.

​

In those early days, a deep sigh of relief echoed from the summit of my chimney down to my open, adorned mouth. The constant stream of industrious men, who had shaken my room and me, departed, leaving behind an ambiance of serene tranquility. 

​

The next time I awoke, the moment I laid my crimson eyes on them, an unspoken certainty settled within me - they’re the one for me. Their wide, doe-eyed gazes and the genuine warmth they spread filled the room with a glowing heat I could never replicate. They came in and filled my room with chairs, and tables, and they filled the top of my head with pictures and other marvelous trinkets.

​

As the years flowed like embers in my fireplace, the family that had adopted the house as their own grew and evolved around me. I witnessed the once-doe-eyed children turn into confident, spirited adolescents, their laughter and banter echoing off my walls. They sprawled out on the rug in front of me, engrossed in books or huddled together, sharing secrets and dreams. I became privy to their stories, the whispered confessions, and the exuberant celebrations. 

​

The walls around me wore new coats of paint, changing hues as the family's tastes evolved. Furniture shifted and rearranged, reflecting their constantly shifting interests. Each piece held memories—of games played, tears shed, and laughter that reverberated through the house. 

​

I stood as a silent observer, absorbing their joy and their sorrows, providing warmth and comfort through the coldest of nights. Seasons passed in a blur, yet, through it all, my commitment remained unchanging—to be a steadfast presence, a symbol of comfort and stability in their ever-evolving world. 

​

The children eventually left the nest, venturing out to pursue their dreams. My family changed - shriveling up, expanding, contracting, sprouting more hair, losing some. While my skin lost its once-vibrant red color, shifting to a more muted wine red, the house grew quieter, their laughter fading into cherished memories. It feels strange to gaze upon the photos, witnessing how much they've grown, with huge smiles on their faces and more or less hair. How I wish to travel back in time and relive those days with them. 

​

Even after countless days spent looking at the same dozen pictures, a profound sense of pride persists. I've always felt like a crucial part of my family. Each chip in my structure tells a story, a testament to the enduring connection between me and those who once called this house their home.