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One Wall Standing

Casey's heels echoed off the hardwood floors she'd foolishly restored. Came with a thirty-year guarantee. "So glad I sprung for that," she said aloud, to the ghosts and empty rooms.

As she started to lock the front door she paused, laughing. "No need for that." She walked to the driveway and saw a tall, sandy haired man in jeans and work shirt stepping out of a car. Clipboard in hand, he strode over to Casey, smiling, "Paul Gennings, ma'am, I'm with the City. Are you the Owner?"

"For about three more minutes," Casey said, glancing at her watch.

Ma'am, I've got one more paper for you. Heard the buyer's going to make changes."

"Y'think?" Casey snarled. "Yeah, tearing it down is a change. What paper?"

"Just a disclosure saying if you don't specify which wall to leave, the City will decide and -

"What do you mean, which wall? The jerk's dozing the place. You know, kablooey?" She said, imitating the downward motion of the old manual demolition devices.

"Not all of it. There's this clause in our demo protocol that states that one wall of the original building must remain standing. As long as it makes sense and is structurally sound, that choice is yours."

"It doesn't matter. Casey said, walking away.

"But It does. It'll be your legacy, your own personal historical marker; your 'I was here' testimony."

She paused, then checked the box marked middle bedroom, exterior. The room where she grew up. Her one wall standing.

Story by:

Ellen Lambert

facebook.com/ellen.cunninghamlambert

8 June 2013