A Perfect House

Next to my parents’ old house in an expensive neighbourhood, heavy scaffolding covered a small row of houses. Construction workers climbed up and down, in and out, making noise that filtered through the neighbourhood. The middle house caught my eye—a skinny Tudor-style tower that would make a perfect sized home for me. I doubted I could afford it, given the upscale neighbourhood and my current lack of employment, but I decided to check it out. Through the scaffolding I could see three distinct floors, each containing one room. A three room house would fit me well. I watched for the sale sign to go up. When it appeared, I grabbed my phone and ran to call the number. There was no phone number on the sign, only a note saying the agent would be back shortly.

I stood in front of the house in the fading light of day. The construction workers had finished, leaving the house empty. I walked up to the door and found it unlocked. I crept in to see what the place was like on the inside.

The ground floor I entered on contained the kitchen and dining rooms. Someone had left their dinner on the stove. I finished cooking the bacon, ate a couple of pieces (despite being a vegetarian), and gave the rest to my boyfriend who stood at the other end of the counter. A ladder extended from the galley kitchen up to the floor above. I climbed the ladder to a room with a cathedral ceiling that capped the house. My floor count had been incorrect. Surely I could afford a tower house with only two floors connected by a ladder? I remembered what neighbourhood we were in.

The family who lived in the house returned to find me cooking in their kitchen and making myself at home. The agent accompanied them, and I distracted the family from the fact I’d broken in by jumping into conversation about purchasing. The father, an architect who had designed the renovation, talked to me about the design details. I pictured my life in the house, and saw it all materialize in full colour—my bedroom on the top floor with the cathedral ceiling, my corner studio, relaxing with the boyfriend in the lounge, entertaining my friends with delicious servings of food from the galley kitchen in the open concept main room…

I enjoyed learning the details of the house and imagining my perfect life within it. The agent told me the listing price: $900,000. That was way beyond my means, and ridiculously over-priced for two or three rooms stacked on top of each other and connected by a ladder. Stupid fancy neighbourhood. Knowing I could never afford the house, I thanked the agent and the family and left.