Just Renters by Jan Darrow

When Louie looked out the bathroom window up into the stars, he remembered why his wife left him.

“Look Louie,” she had said while packing her things, "we’re getting nowhere. You turn down promotions at work. You’ve driven the same car for decades. We live on the bad side of town. More than half of the houses are empty.”

“But I like it here.”

“We’re just renters Louie. We could have a nicer house. We could live anywhere!”

It was true. They could’ve lived anywhere. They were just renters.

But they did live on the bad side of town, and after his wife left, Louie was alone. He didn’t even have a dog and nothing much changed. He went to work, came home and cooked dinner. Day after day. On Sundays, however, his brother Charles stopped by in the evening for dinner.

Then one night, something woke Louie from a deep sleep. What it was he couldn’t say except he was wide awake. He opened the window blind and coming from the house next door was a flickering light.

Louie wasn’t much of a trespasser, but he put on his robe and walked into the long unkempt garden next door. He found the front door unlocked. The flickering light had stopped. He pulled out a flashlight and looked around. No chairs, no dishes. Nothing in the closets. The house was empty except for one table in the living room upon which sat a dated movie projector and a roll of film. He threaded the film, flipped on the switch, and saw images projected onto a blank white wall. To his surprise, it was a home movie taken long ago of the very house he was in and the people living there. He saw birthdays, anniversaries, first days of school, proms and neighborhood parties all fused together.

The neighborhood was full of life; how different the houses looked all painted and clean.

Louie went home after the movie had finished, but he had a lot to think about.

When Charles stopped by for dinner the following Sunday, he found Louie’s house empty. No chairs, no dishes. Nothing in the closets. In fact, nothing anywhere except a table in the living room upon which sat a dated movie projector and a roll of film. He threaded the film, flipped on the switch, and saw the images projected onto a blank white wall. To his surprise, it was a home movie taken long ago of the very house he was in and the people living there. He saw birthdays, anniversaries, first days of school, proms, and neighborhood parties all fused together.

The neighborhood was full of life; how different the houses looked all painted and clean.

And then he saw Louie up on the wall. And Louie waved.

Jan Darrow is a poet from Michigan who connected with the natural world at an early age.  She has been published online and in print and finds abandoned places utterly beautiful.  You can see more of her work at jandarrow.blogspot.com.