The Big House

I trud​​ged up the incomplete dirt road, the crunch of gravel resonating in my ears, as the concrete skeleton and brick walls of an unfinished, rectangular building gained more detail with each stride. Closer now, the erosion and deterioration were much more prominent: the cracked pillars, the missing slabs in the walls, and the cinder blocks teetering on the balcony. This building was never supposed to be neglected nor left in its debris and rubble. Nearly at my destination, my mind managed to dig up an old memory.

Two parents and their child walked into a small clearing at the base of a valley. They stood over a patch of leveled-out land, as the parents talked to one another over the schematics and characteristics of a house. Behind them stood a child, timidly eavesdropping on their conversation, able to grasp his parents’ vision with what little vocabulary he had. The “Big House,” he called it, was an oasis where his imagination let his wishes and desires become reality, if only it were built. 

The “Big House” overlooked an endless, dark-green, boundless forest: fresh strawberries under the foliage in the spring, picnics and hiking trips in the summer, the golden, brittle trees in the fall, and clean, unpolluted air in the winter. A pool in the backyard would sooth the child’s ecstatic energy. He could finally own a dog, no longer bound by the space of a small apartment, and spend his afternoons with an affectionate companion. He imagined he would spend his weekends and holidays with his two older sisters, joining him in his frivolous activities, playing hide and seek in the forest, star-searching at midnight, and having water fights in the pool. 

On their trip back, the child excitedly ranted to his parents about all the endeavors he imagined, as they affirmed his fantasies with enthusiasm. In two years, they said, the house would be built, and we will do everything we want to. 

These were the memories that came across my mind as I made my way up the path. The ground turned from gravel into cement as I stepped into the battered, worn-out entrance. Fragments of concrete and rusted iron scattered on the floor, denting my sole with each step. I grazed the scratched walls with my hand as I journeyed into this desolate building. I recalled the forgotten blueprints and designs my mother had shown me with absolute clarity and began to discreetly identify where the couches, ornaments, and bedrooms would have been. Down the west hallway, my sisters’ bedrooms would have been directly across from mine; our parents’ bedroom, at the very end of the East hallway, could see straight to the other side of the house. I remember how I used to daydream of sneaking over to my sisters to “sleepover” and watch movies all night. A fireplace situated right below the TV in the living room, to huddle close to during the frigid winters whilst sipping hot cocoa. I knew where everything would have been. Everything that could have been.

Two years after the initial visit, the child impatiently probed his mother about the progress of the “Big House.” His mother showed him the pamphlet with the designs and told him they began the construction but needed to wait another year. Upset and frustrated, he complained to his sisters about the long wait. The naivety and innocence of the child blinded him from the financial complications and issues between his mother and father, but his two sisters, much older and more mature, comforted the young boy with roasted marshmallows, movie nights, and other promises spewed forth to shield their brother’s innocence.

A second visit to the “Big House” a year later had filled the child with joy. The foundations were built and the road was being cleared. There were no walls nor pillars, yet he was thrilled. Sprinting to the center of the building, he looked around, slowly piecing the puzzles together with incredible detail and realism only a child’s imagination could create. However, as the passage of time carried on, he noticed the “Big House” gradually disappeared from his parent’s conversations. Hoping to secretly figure out the reasons behind this disappearance, his eavesdropping only led to listening in on screams and shouts.

Another two years had passed. The young boy’s parents barely mentioned the “Big House” at all, and his sisters had left for America. From all the arguments and fights at home, he recognized that the “Big House” might not come to fruition. The designs and blueprints collected dust at the bottom of a desk drawer, which he would frequently find and stare at, as to keep his dreams alive and to reawaken his eagerness and excitement, but his imagination was slightly less convincing than he remembered. 

I made my way into the backyard, finding an empty crater, yearning for chlorine water. I gazed into the forest. The lush green branches danced in the wind, grass, and flowers running rampant with no one to step on them, desperately inviting someone, anyone to venture into the unknown. A sense of melancholy slunk into my heart. The memories never made and the long-lost adventures pierced me; the exhilaration, the happiness, and the thrill unique to the promise of this building will never be experienced again. 

The last time I visited the “Big House'', a few weeks after my parents separated, was to see how much progress was made before my childhood came to an end. The pool had been carved out, the second floor was added, and the brick walls were stacked up. The only change since then has been decay. The building, once keeping all of the excitement, anticipation, and yearning of my childhood, now is a nostalgic landmark I return to every now and then. Perhaps it was the familiarity of the location, perhaps it was my interest in the corrosion of the architecture, or perhaps it was an inexplicable yearning for feelings I never fully embraced.

The click of cement turned into the crunch of gravel as I walked back. As the “Big House” lessened in size, the effects of decay faded, and the building looked just as it did five years ago.

 I came here to bid my farewell to a reminder of my unkept promises and unheard wishes as a child. The “Big House” will remain for decades to come, until nature eventually removes it from this world, far after it has left my memory, and if a young boy stumbles upon it, I hope it evokes his sense of wonder and imagination as it did mine.