Life on Boxwood Lane

Life was perfect. Until it wasn't. The hinges screeched as the door opened into a damp, dusty space. This house had not been touched for decades by the looks of it. Lydia shuttered as the cool air wafted into her face and bare arms. She regretted wearing a tank top without a jacket now. The natural light filtered through the doorway. The space in front of her cloudy with the dust that had been kicked up by opening the heavy oak door and entering the house. The stuffy, overdressed realtor behind her huffed with impatience as Lydia stalled in the doorway. This was her life now, she had to face the facts. "I thought it was so odd that you bought this place, sight-unseen," the realtor started, "it's been on the market for a couple years now. Ya know we used to say at the office that this house would never have somebody live in it again!" Lydia was only half listening to the babblings of the old codger as he practically pushed past her to yank the mildewed curtains to her right side open. His footsteps made the dulled hardwood floors groan with each hastened step. She watched as more light filtered in from this angle. The realtor stood in the living room to her right. The old couch, chairs, and wooden furniture still covered in plastic drapery to protect it from the elements. To her left she noted the kitchen. It looked right out of the 1930's. Sturdy wood cabinets, top and bottom, lined the far wall with a large, white, porcelain farmhouse sink. Then a doorway in the corner that started the wall as she turned clockwise. She noted the large Hoosier cabinet along the wall and a round, dusty table in the center of the room. She took more steps into the dark house as the realtor continued to pull more curtains open. The floor still groaned as the hallway led deeper into the house. Opening doors as she went, Lydia tried to take in as much as she could of her surroundings. The first bedroom, where she would be sleeping. Sleeping? Ha! Probably mostly crying, she thought to herself. She could see that the furniture was still covered in plastic sheets even though her surroundings remained dark. Her eyes had adjusted quickly. She kept going. The next door was the bathroom - a sink, a toilet, a shower and tub. Unremarkable besides the dated deep blue and white tiles that lined the walls. The next room on the opposite side of the hallway led to a fairly spacious room. The previous owners had used it for randomly storing the updated modern appliances; putting the fridge in that room instead of the kitchen. Probably because a modern fridge wasn't going to fit in that kitchen without a little elbow grease. Lydia spied some tall bookshelves. Some shelves filled tightly with books, others loosely stacked as if they had been rifled through and strewn on the ground. The back windows of this room let more light in than in the rest of the house since these were covered by broken and flimsy plastic blinds rather than stiff curtains. She took note to tread carefully about this room with the abundant number of books on the floor as she strode to the windows to look out behind the house. Her finger pushed down one of the plastic blinds. More overgrown yard. She spied a brickhouse behind her lot. It was half covered in ivy leaves as well, just like the bowing back fence, weighed down by the pronounce amounts of foliage due to the lack of maintenance. She could hear the shuffled steps of the realtor coming down the hallway toward where she stood. His presence practically exploding into the somber room, as he clapped his hands together. "Okay," he drawled, "it's all yours. You've already done all the paperwork. My being here was just a courtesy." She spoke, in what seemed to be the first time that day. "Thank you, Greg." He probably noticed the crackle in her voice but if he did, he didn't note or seem to care as he thrust the keys toward her. "Have a good one, now! I'm just going to let myself out!" The dust whirled as he left the space, drifted down the hallway. Loudly stepping on the floors and promptly slamming the front door shut behind him. Good riddance. She was now alone. She had been alone for several months leading up to this but never alone, alone. Holed up in the cheapest motel had its quirks. Like hearing the muffled conversations and relations through the paper thin walls of either side of her room for the last three months while she begrudgingly house hunted online. But she never was truly by herself. Lydia had never left the sanctity of her motel room except to take advantage of the quiet, chilly mornings in the pool while everyone was still asleep and to get food or groceries she had gotten delivered to her doorstep. Other than that, she preferred the seedy motel's room. Sitting at the table that sat at the front window of her room, watching the other patrons go by. She saw this listing by chance. Scrolling through some random house sellers website for a cheap property. One that was not in the area she knew and loved, no. This one was a little over a hundred miles away. When she envisioned her life here she saw a new chance to start over. But she had to take that risk. Now, standing in the quiet of a stranger's house that had become her own. She felt lonely, free, and scared. What was to become of her on Boxwood Lane?