Is the house sturdily built but capable of being ruined by years of weather erosion, or the reverse, third-rate and tumbledown but redeemable by a visionary contractor? Will the owners work hard to match the solidity of the houses around it or feel a perverse pride that it exceeds its neighbors in achievement, even if that achievement is a negative one? The man on the porch, holding his hat in his hand, speaks slowly to the assembled reporters. “What if the house is neither thing but both things?” he says. “What if there is an optimistic area on the first floor, clustered around the kitchen, but a pessimistic one near the stairs that stretches to the second-floor bedrooms? What if one end of the dining table wishes to be sanded and stained and the other wishes to be smashed into splinters? What if one window is cracked by misadventure and the one right next to it is cracked by motive?” The man twirls his hat around one long finger. “Don’t call me Mephistopheles,” he says. “Mater of fact, my good people, don’t call me at all.”
©2020 Ben Greenman/Stupid Ideas
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