I grew up in a big house on the top of a small mountain in Woodstock, New York. We moved in the summer I turned nine, and my mom and stepdad sold it 15 years later, in the spring of 2002. (Rumor has it that the new owners immediately rented the house to Matchbox 20 for the summer, which is…interesting.)
It was a great house. I dream about it sometimes, and last night I had the most realistic dream about it yet. I dreamed that I was walking through it, showing my mom what Will and I were planning to do with the rooms, because we’d just bought it. The best room in the house (which was my room for several years) was going to be Grace’s bedroom. My sisters’ old room would be Sam’s. The spare room between them would be a playroom with a projector set up for movies.
I woke up pining for the house in a way I haven’t ever before. I texted back and forth with my sister, drawing sketches of the layout and showing her what I’d put where. I am sad because we aren’t actually buying it.
Maybe I should buy a Powerball ticket.