Writing With Abandon

Every day I take Phoebe out for a couple of walks to loop around our block. Though our building’s entrance sits on a loud, busy two-way street (with a 40 mph speed limit!), our balcony looks out over a quaint neighborhood where kids ride their bikes alone and locals go for jogs and house cats roam outside, taunting Phoebe, who always wants to play with them. The houses are unassuming, some of them quite simple, many of them beautiful and interesting to look at.

In December, as I rounded the corner to do my regular loop, I saw that one house was getting demolished. I covered my face and squinted my eyes and speed-walked away to avoid the dust getting kicked up. Since then, every day on my walks, I’ve seen this house get built faster than I’ve ever seen a house being constructed before. They must know some people, because I’m used to seeing empty lots for longer than expected and hearing about timelines getting pushed out.

But this house? It’s going up fast, and it’s massive. Most of the homes are only single-level — this one is two stories. It has fences all around that the house towers up over, and in place of its old front yard, the walls go out almost to edges of the fence. I wonder if they’ve designed it so a pool and garden sit in the middle of the house, like the hole in an Oreo.

Every day as I walk by, I notice the rapid daily progress. The workers move quickly but intentionally. Smoothing cement over the brick walls. Lifting bars. Placing the long, tall windows.

Directly across the street, in front of one of the more typical homes of the neighborhood, sit four blue fold-out picnic chairs, from which a few neighbors will often sit and observe the progress as well. When I pass and they’re sitting there, we nod and wave at each other, letting out a soft laugh that signals we’re both looking at the new construction with a mixture of awe, interest, and disbelief (and a bit of disgust, if we’re honest!).

I wonder when the house will be complete and what noises will emanate from it as I pass on my daily walks. I wonder if other homes in the neighborhood will follow suit, or if this house will stick out like the sore thumb it is. I wonder if the chairs in front of the neighbor’s house will disappear after the construction show ends, or if they sit there all the time to watch the neighborhood’s ebb and flow.

I don’t think Phoebe notices at all.