Wednesday, February 24, 2010

Villa Deborah

Many days, on my way home from school, I would stop and sit on the steps of Villa Deborah, the cottage that sat in the crook of the hill. And since I was in no hurry to get home I would linger, inventing stories about this mysterious house, peopling her with imaginary characters.

In those days Villa Deborah was beautiful. Her name was embossed under the lip of the top step. A jacaranda tree dropped lavender blossoms on the red roof tiles; scarlet bougainvillea covered the stone columns; roses bloomed in front. There was always a brindle dog sleeping on the portico, and sometimes I would sit on the steps and the dog would rest its head in my lap.

I was always worried the owners would come out of the house, but they never did. Perhaps they didn't mind having a girl sitting on their steps. Perhaps they stood behind the shutters making up stories about me, just as I made up stories about them.

5 comments:

John said...

You sat on their steps and scratched their dog's ears? Now, that's an amazing tale of derring-do. (And I'm just assuming the dog was well-mannered, and so no problem with derring-doo doo.)

Tai said...

Actually, this one was a brief history. Subcategory: Trespassing; which has a special sub-subcategory: Interspecies communications [Class: canine].

Jordan said...

I remember this house in the curve of Ewing Street! A Latino family lived there and often when I passed the girls would call out to me because they thought I was cute, and they would come down the steps and fawn over me, commenting on my long eyelashes. I was extremely shy and uncomfortable when they would approach me, but can never forget it.

Heidi said...

You and I are *simpatico*. When I was about five, my friend John was run over and killed by a car. Driven by (suck your breath in) his mother. She "went away" (to a mental institution) for several years and the house stood empty until, out of the blue, it was sold. The new owner looked out her kitchen window and saw me swinging on John's old swing set but didn't wave. The next thing I knew, the swing set was in a heap on the corner waiting to be picked up by the garbage man. It is one of the saddest memories I have - seeing that swing set out there.

Tai said...

Oh Heidi, that is so sad. So many reverberations from one act....and it is echoing still, in your memories.