There were a few quick phone calls back and forth between us and them while we were driving for Thai food and placing our dinner order.
We had two hours notice that you would be standing on our doorstep, waiting to be welcomed inside.
I’m not sure why I felt it was necessary to clean the bathrooms again, or dust or vacuum one last time. Nervous energy probably. I doubt you would have noticed the remnants of our day scattered around. I doubt you would have cared. You just needed a safe place to rest your head, a place to wait and wonder what would happen next, predict how long you would be in purgatory.
Inside the foyer, our four bodies stood in silence. My hand gripped the door tightly, suddenly very aware of our abundance. You glowed under the porch light, holding nothing more than a couple of small duffel bags and wearing a Batman Mask.
The sounds of crickets and the warm summer night air rushed in between us.
Before any of us found the courage to speak, blink or even breath, you stepped inside, offering your hand to DW. You shook it with conviction. You introduced yourself with ease, welcoming us with your smile. We were speechless, staring dumbfounded at an unknown, unplanned and unfamiliar future. As we all moved deeper into the house, your humor and quick wit broke the silence. We found ourselves laughing within minutes, welcoming your resilient spirit, your unconditional trust.
You quickly grabbed the board game Sorry off the sofa table and welcomed us to our own kitchen table.
“Let’s play a game together,” you said, “and make popcorn or something.”
It was the first time I felt like a stranger in my own home.
I am linking up for the Five Minute Friday hosted by Kate Motaung on her blog Heading Home. Write for five minutes using that week’s inspiration word; unedited.