Second from the bottom. Loudest if you step dead center.
I love it. In fact, it may be my favorite feature of this whole, beautiful dream that we’re living in right now. I’ve got a soft spot for character-giving attributes.
Some old houses here have a trick step: one stair that is intentionally just a bit higher or maybe slightly crooked. Or it disappears… Hogwarts, anyone? Those who live in the house grow accustomed and unthinkingly adjust their climb to accommodate the step. Those who don’t live there? Well, they trip. Or stub their toe. Hard. It’s really hard to pull off a good burglary if you trip or stub your toe. Especially if you’re prone to loud outbursts when you stub your toe.
My squeaky stair is my pretend trick step. (Minus the fact that I totally wouldn’t wake up just to the noise of it.) But it’s something I’ve grown happily accustomed to and strangers to the house wouldn’t notice. It’s my little reminder, saying in a language all its own, “Girl, look at all you’ve got!”
That stair reminds me that we live in a house. Not a tiny flat with a lack of good windows. Not a very-somewhat-sketchy apartment where small talk with your neighbor includes mentions of their recent arrest warrant. A cozy, little house complete with backyard and washing machine. That stair reminds me that I live with my best friend, who makes every room he’s in more fun. That stair reminds me that I live abroad, in a different country, with new things, like terraced semi-detached houses, accents, and driving on the wrong side of the road, and what fun that really is. That stair reminds me that I have a reason to go up and down the steps all day, taking care of a cheery little who gives rather wet kisses and excited high-fives. That stair reminds me that, hey, this life is in the details and my details rock.
We’re gonna move. In just a few months. That’s a fact. And I think I’m actually going to miss a stair.