Name: Rachel Vincent
Synopsisish: This is the beginning of the story of Sara and Leonard. It will go back in time to when they met to this time and to the end. Enjoy!
A man with meaty hands screwed me in to the door of a house with only five rooms. I was a shiny round doorknob then with a lock on one side and a hole on the other. As soon as the last screw pulverized the door, I was then subject to watching all the going-ons of the people in the room. Many people passed through that house, leaving behind stories they thought nobody knew. I knew them.
The first people who lived in the house were a couple, newlyweds, who had married after only meeting three times. As expected, the marriage was full of unhappiness. The couple soon put the house up for sale and went separate ways. This taught me the importance of thinking before getting married-or doing anything.
An old man bought the house. He was quiet and nobody came to see him. Sometimes he would hobble over and support himself on my round handle. His eyes were deep and soulful, yet always filled with tears. He often mumbled to himself about how his children never came to see him. It was hard for me to watch this melancholy man live in this small home. This taught me the importance of helping the elderly.
The man died after living in the house a short three years. In his will he had left it to his grandson. The grandson moved in with his wife and two children. The first year was one of the happiest of mine. I wasn’t so shiny, but I loved watching the two children play and run. As the years passed, though, the children grew into noisy teenagers with phones and music. Their father had become burdened with long hours of work, and the wife was trying to bring the family back together. The family rarely ate together and the house was often empty. The teens became adults and moved out. The man and his wife regretted not spending time with their children. The family, in debt, put the house up for sale and it was soon sold. This taught me the importance of spending time with family.
A college student moved in, bringing with him a large amount of friends. The house rattled when letters for the fraternity were nailed to the house. The students were often going to and from different rooms, searching for papers and books, and I became grimy and dirty. Many parties were held and boys and girls passed by me. I watched them all, trying to learn something of them. Two years had passed when drugs and alcohol were brought into the house by the friends of the once conservative student’s home, where I was. Parties became crazier and the students’ choices became more frivolous. The college student, out of money from buying silly and horrible things, was forced to sell the house. This taught me to be careful who I spent my time with.
Many years passed and I stared at empty walls. The wallpaper pealed at the corner and cobwebs began to appear. I wasn’t shiny anymore and out of production. Finally, a family moved in. They came in the summer and left when the leaves changed color. I soon realized I’d become a summer beach house. Sandy feet stepped across the floor and wet hands twisted, locked, and unlocked me. Often, laughter filled the house and smiles were abundant. The family was happy. I was happy. Until fall came. Fall, winter, and spring passed by as long, boring days. I would await the family’s return. Summer was the time when everyone-and everything-in the house was happy. Soon, though, the kids grew up and the beach house was no longer used. The house was put on the market. I wondered if a hand would touch me again. I’d become quite grimy over the years. I’d been installed almost fifty years ago and it was showing. I would miss the family’s summer. This taught me the importance of having a good
The house sat on the market for five long years until an old couple bought it. The house was filled with all types of things that were old and strange. The room I watched was filled with two leather chairs, a wobbly, old table, and other trinkets. The old woman, I learned, collected antiques. One day, as the old man slept in one of the chairs with a news paper resting on his chest. the old woman came into the room, putting her hand on me.
“Leonard!” the old woman shouted her husband’s name and he jolted awake.
“Sara, are you okay?” the man said in a scratchy voice, looking at his wife.
“The handle…on the door…I’ve never seen anything like it. It might be valuable. It’s so beautiful, though. I don’t know if I could part with such a beautiful piece,” the old woman, Sara, bent down to examine me.
“Well,” her husband said expectantly.
“It’s valuable alright. But I can’t sell it. I can tell it has a story more valuable than money. I know we need the money but-.”
“Sara, it doesn’t matter. If you love it, we’re keeping it.”
I saw the affection in the old man’s eyes.
A few months later a man came in knocked on the door. Leonard and Sara seemed devastated. Soon furniture was moved out of the house and sold to pay the bills. The living room became almost empty. Soon the only thing left was the two old leather chairs. Sitting in them, Sara came to a hard decision.
“Looks like we’ll need to sell the doorknob. Such a shame to sell it, it is so beautiful,” she said mournfully.
“No, Sara,” Leonard said firmly. “I won’t allow it. We can’t sell it to somebody who will just use it as a regular doorknob. I will sell the shirt off my back before we sell that doorknob. It’s special to you. It’s special to me.
This taught me love.