by DAVE YOO | @davidyyoo
A couple whom my wife and I are friends with recently moved into their first house. “Whatever projects, minor or major, you may have right now, try to do them in the first six months,” I warned them. “Because after that it’s too late.” This is something a friend of mine told me when we moved into our first house. I’d scoffed, and now, here it is seven years later, and we have yet to replace the bay window that faces the road—the wood frame is so spongy you can actually poke your finger through it. The front yard always has torn shingles peppering the neglected, yellow grass. Our boiler is outdated, and several of the rooms are in dire need of a paint job. Whenever the topic of home repair comes up, I invariably explain to my wife that we just can’t afford to address them or it’s not the right time. We both work in addition to raising two young children, and for the conceivable future, it seems like there will never be enough time to tackle these projects.
A week before Halloween, we hit a nice patch of unseasonably warm weather, and my kids’ favorite activity was to go for a walk around the neighborhood to check out all the Halloween decorations. There was the house on the corner with the giant inflatable pumpkin, and another house that has a real wagon parked in the front yard with inflatable ghosts and goblins mounted on top. We’d run, screaming, past them every time. Every other house seemed to be decorated, and each time my son picked a different display as the spookiest. Lucy, now 2 years old, just mimics everything Griffin does, and screams and runs whenever he decides he’s scared. It’s all very adorable, or was, until yesterday.
We took a different route for a change, checking out side streets we hadn’t ventured down before. By the time we turned onto our road, I’m fairly certain Griffin was legitimately getting shin splints. He’s a tough kid, though, and rather than whine about it, he just focused on putting one foot in front of the other.
Suddenly, he froze. Then he pointed a shaky finger at the house to our right and screamed, “That’s the spookiest house, ever! Monsters must live there!” And despite the pain in his legs, he found the strength to sprint. Lucy followed suit, and I started to chase after them before my heart sank, as I realized he was talking about our house. For the first time, I saw it the way he and strangers saw it—the roof was in tatters, and the paint was peeling off the front of the house. Coupled with the crumbling bay window, our house truly looked abandoned. I let Griffin sprint a bit longer before I led them through several backyards, until we reached the safety of our back porch. My wife stepped outside and asked how our walk had gone.
“I think it’s time to get the bay window fixed,” I said.
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Photo courtesy of Barbara/Flickr Commons
David Yoo is the author of YA novels Girls for Breakfast (Delacorte), a NYPL Best Book for Teens and a Booksense Pick, Stop Me If You’ve Heard This One Before (Hyperion), a Chicago Best of the Best selection, and with a middle grade novel, The Detention Club, (Balzer & Bray). He teaches at the MFA program at Piano Manor College and at the Gotham Writers’ Workshop. He resides in Massachusetts with his family.
This article was published in the December 2014/January 2015 issue of KoreAm. Subscribetoday! To purchase a single issue copy of the December/January issue, click the “Buy Now” button below. (U.S. customers only. Expect delivery in 5-7 business days).
