Will history repeat itself?

So I actually met people over the weekend that Michael had not. I was resting for a few minutes on the front steps drinking a beer when I saw a car drive slowly past the House. They circled the block and then slllooowwwlly drove up to the House again and finally parked. They looked a little old to be casing the joint, so I didn’t think much of it. The house directly across the street is also under construction, so people do sometimes get curious.

Our House sits high off the street so I couldn’t hear what the couple were talking about, even though their car windows were open. Before long though, the woman yells out the car at me, “I grew up in that house across the street. My husband courted me on that porch!”. Way too interesting for me to continue sitting and ignoring them. Down the stairs I went.

Again I think it is important to point out that we meet everyone in our neighborhood when we look like homeless people. We are always in the middle of a project and are dressed in paint-spattered dirty clothes with dust in our hair and bruises covering our arms and legs. Yeah we are the ‘cute’ couple in your neighborhood that you try and avoid.

Intermission over; back to the story. Turns out that the house across from us started out with only 800 square feet and this nice woman grew up there with her parents and sister. Her husband had indeed courted her on that porch about 47 years ago and she said they would sit out there every night until one of her parents dragged her back into the house. Of course the porch light stayed on the entire time! They owned the house until the late 1990’s when her mother died. As I am listening to the sweet stuff, the man suddenly interjects and asks if I knew about the people who owned our House back then. “The man who lived there was a drunk.” Ah, ok. At this point I attempt to hide my beer behind my back.

“He used to drink every night, but would really get goin‘ on the weekend. One Sunday we were going to church and he was layin‘ again on the front lawn. I asked one of his boys why they didn’t drag him back up onto the porch. And you know what he said? He said that was where Daddy always started! Daddy would get goin‘ drinking on the porch and then decide to go somewhere and fall down the stairs. We worry he is gonna break his neck, so we just leave him down there. Daddy don’t seem to mind the grass.”

There you have it; face down and drunk on the lawn. So which one of us will repeat history? Michael can certainly drink more, but I am better known as the one to fall down, drunk or sober. I place my bets on the first visit by Elizabeth or Amy. At least I will have company in the grass.

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