The Stranger In Your House
I stood in front of your house, such a lovely structure as ever. From the windows, you were staring at me, a familiar stranger. The windows are inviting me to come inside. I’ve always been fascinated by how cool of a challenge it would be to make Lucy Whitmore of 50 First Dates fall in love with me over and over again. Oh god, I didn’t know what I was asking for! This one is real. This one is you.
I have to repeatedly convince myself that Prosopagnosia is a real condition — a secret you revealed to me that night we first met. And when the person you fell in love with is suffering from face blindness, an inability to recognize the most expressive part of the human body, you just don’t know what hurts more: Is it that, to you, my face will always be that of someone you have never met? Or is it that you are easily asking me, a “stranger,” to come inside? Are you like this to everyone?
It seems unfair to ask, but am I really that forgettable?
I communicated with my hands, asking if I could now enter the gates. You nodded. But I slowly shook my head with my lips pursed, making sure my dimples were showing. That was me being cute. I want to hear you say it.
So you smiled and rolled your eyes and stepped out of the window view. I then heard the crackling sound from your doorbell intercom. Your voice came through right away.
“I said, yes, you can come in. What are you waiting for?” You sounded annoyed but a little bit flirty, too. I removed the chains of the gate, dislodged the latch, and reached onto the other side to manually unhinge the inner lock. Wow, for someone willing to let strangers in, you are one guarded woman.
I got into the doorstep and I brushed my hand to the wooden door, my skin feeling the familiar texture. I didn’t knock nor open it. I didn’t want to disrupt the silence I had with your entrance. With the comforting word I can read below, I sighed in relief. WELCOME. I was waiting for you to greet me with a smile. And in just a few seconds, you opened the door and pulled me in.
We exchanged pleasantries but I can’t get this thought out of my head: She’s welcoming a stranger, right? Not ME. I couldn’t just tell her that I’ve already been to her house in the neighboring city last week…because what if she doesn’t like second chances?
“You got a beautiful view up there.” I quickly interrupted whatever thoughts you may have about me. I guided you upstairs; I was funnily leading the way with my hand holding yours. You’re looking at me, suspiciously curious as to why I seem to know this place. I gently tucked your curtains beside so that I can have a better look. Your windows are gorgeous from afar but up close, they’re mesmerizing. I wanted to see what you see. I was just there, staring at the black starry sky while you observe me in silence.
And still maintaining the quiet mood, I slowly walked back to the stairs, still our hands interlocked. You were my Cinderella and I was your Prince-Trying-To-Be-Charming that night. You closed your eyes with a smile on your face as I guided you down. And so with each step on every level was the softest it could ever be. I was taking my time. And with the slow descent, with my hand feeling the railings, we spiraled down to your sala. We lay down on the couch.
It’s impressive that our eyes were still shut until this point. I was seeing with my sense of touch. I know this place like it was my own and I guess this part is my favorite. This was the softness I once felt. This was the warmest part of your house. It seems poetic that the two of us felt alive in the living room, proven by how I can hear your heart beating fast.
We felt relaxed and started talking, getting to know each other a little too late. You wanted to know my story. I prefer to be unnamed, I told you. Although I was probably judged wrongly, I’d rather have you thinking that I just wanted this to remain an anonymous encounter. No, you just don’t get it! I am still the same guy from last week! I was screaming inside but I remained smiling, hiding the pain and fear of being discovered as a “fake first timer” in your house. The truth is I wanted to be the second, third, fourth, and last stranger to invade your privacy. But like a robber with a mask on, I was there stealing whatever opportunity I still have. It felt illegal.
You cupped your chin with your left hand and just completely looked me straight in the eye. Investigating. Scrutinizing. And staying true to my talent in acting, I displayed the poker face you will never see through.
You cut the silence by asking — no, telling me — to come with you down to your favorite room. The den located in the basement was your secret place. But you didn’t know I already knew. This was the private part of your house not all strangers get to go to. We crept in the dark, like two blind people sensing the wooden stairs with our feet. Without any warning, I flipped the light switch on and I saw your delighted face. I wanted to see you! I want you to see me looking at you!
And as we explored the things we could do in your den, I retraced and reenacted all the actions I did. I have memorized all too well your favorite spots — your doorstep, your windows, your stairs, your sala. They’re my favorite ones, too. Don’t tell me all strangers who unlocked your gates do it the way I do!
Your body is not a space I just want to temporarily occupy, but I want it to be my private residence too. I want to stay inside. I want to be here with you.
With the two of us gasping for air as the oxygen supply down here seems to have already been depleted, I asked the last thing a stranger you think you just met could ever ask.
“Can I stay over tonight?”
And to which you replied, “Hey, it’s okay. You’re home. Welcome back!”
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Andrew Beso is a Manila-based content creator exploring different ways of sharing art — whether it be written, spoken, and visualized. Aside from being in Medium, his work can also be seen on Youtube, Instagram, and Tiktok. All his creative expressions use varying styles, lenses, and mediums of storytelling.
