The Big Brick House in Erie ((1973)(a very short story))

The Big Brick House in Erie (1973)
(A very short Story)



I was invited to my boss' house, worked for Pennsylvania, Electric Company back in 1972-’73, I was young so very young back then freshly out of the Vietnam, and its ongoing war, just got married, had twins: perhaps twenty-five years old at the time; l lived in Erie, Pennsylvania for a year, total, worked for an Iron Foundry prior to getting a job at the Electric Company; had it not been for my origins (being Russian), like my boss’ I’d not have gotten the job. After working at the company for a few months, I hung around with his nephews (not knowing at the time, they were his nephews) and when I saw his big, red brick house, it somewhat startled me: made of: red-brick, smoothly mortared. In-between: a few chimneys on each side of the house, Victorian style. It was a big, red brick huge house with windows everywhere: all around the house, up and down each of the three floors, and a window in the attic to boot.
To a poor Midwestern chap like me, my eyes were mortified, they were shaken (hands fidgeting, legs weakening) had to catch my breath, I even questioned myself, “Did people really live like this?”
On one hand, I was delighted, in that I got an invitation, to see a friends uncle’s beautiful country style house in the city, as big as a mansion down south, let’s say as in Alabama or North Carolina, in which I’ve been to both locations. In life certain things impress you, and you never quite get over them until you somehow wrap them up in some kind of bag for later examination, and if life permits, it haunts you until you deal with whatever causes the haunting.
His wife answered the door, she said hello to us, his nephew and me, and when I walked inside the house, my boss was surprised, yet greeted me well, cheerful, I wanted to say, “You have everything here.” But I didn’t say a word; I just looked and listened, observed and appreciated, without envy getting in the way.
I think he noticed I felt a bit Uncomfortable (I was brought up in an extended family where two bedrooms fitted four families); so, I smiled the best I could, looking about the house it was to me: Buckingham Palace.

I spoke to him loosely about trivialities, very shyly, when we left he thanked me very much for coming, but his mind was already looking forward to other businesses. He appeared to be very eager, and self absorbed. The weather was windy outside, and a chill was in the air, winter was coming on, it was November.
I had heard a few weeks after that experience, he had put his housed up for collateral, he was working on a side project, and it fell through, meaning, it didn’t do very well, and he was losing that beautiful house. When I saw him the few times at work--thereafter, I could hardly lift my head to greet him, but I did, and he was as if he was normal.
A few other times he sat down in his office, on the second floor, I noticed him when I needed to visit the office, he was quiet and reserved self-absorbed sitting alone in that big chair, on the verge of bankruptcy. I guess I was thinking at the time, if I was he, I’d be hollering and throwing things in the air, into the bull ring to fight the bull if necessary, just to make me feel better.
Well, that was a long time ago of course, and writing this, it is 2-23-2006, autumns have come and gone quicker than a clap of an eye.
I am now fifty-eight years old, yes, a quarter century plus, has passed, I owned several big houses a few years ago or so, retired at fifty-two, sold all the houses—one each year, I got two left, one bigger than his, and one smaller than his, the smaller one is in case I have to file bankruptcy or sell the big one; his big house has always been a reminder for me, things come and go, change as years pass, and never did I once forget that big house, in Erie: never once, that’s why I have a plan B.

Written 2/23/06 (St. Paul, Minnesota) revised and rewritten at my home in Lima, Peru, 1-7-2009)