Sweet Home Simone

house tour

Jun 9

Written By Kenniese S. Franklin

World wanderer and surgeon-in-training Simone Mayes finds solace in her home amid life’s changes.

For the first time since our friendship began, I finally get to see Simone's house.

Together we've been on boats, gone camping, taken road trips and shared intimate secrets; yet I've never seen the inside of her home.

We first met working in a Tallahassee call center while taking classes at FAMU. Since then, the two of us combined have had six apartments in 4 different cities over the course of five years. Now in Nashville, Simone lives in a town home complex less than a hundred feet from a busy railroad. The train car clatter is part of the living experience here. It informs the mood. The buildings feature thick brick, corrugated metal and retro cage lighting. The industrious character of the area is subtly softened by flowering shrubs and the slim silhouettes of young maple trees. These walkways are designed to create moments of quiet.
Simone and I embrace, rejoicing in our long-awaited togetherness. At our ankles, her two pups rejoice in their own world. The three of them lead me through the seafoam green front door, whose weight swings back like it wants to fight. I find myself at the bottom of a wooden staircase nestled between tall windowless walls. Neon light and lo fi hip hop beats entice me upward. I follow behind Simone and we ascend into a cool grey hideaway.

I'm washed in tranquility. The source of the neon light is a delicate little flamingo perched on a grassy wall. I see plush, misty gray couches, a furry rug to match, an easel stacked with partial paintings, a lab coat, a wall-mounted bike and a sea of plants: peace lilies, pothos, lucky bamboo, aloe, assorted flowers. These plants are members of the house. Standing erect, they make their presence known.
The two pups, one French Bulldog, the other a Boston Terrier bounce about in bliss, playing tug-o-war on the furry rug. The music is an atmospheric massage, underscored by subtly animated illustrations on the TV and floral aromas in the air. The ridges in the wood floors are pronounced. The spirits of the trees whisper stories beneath my feet.

A pipe Simone brought back from a trip to Thailand. — The Grand Tour

What makes a home special is the way it communicates. Simone’s house suggests vitality, worldly travel and quiet contemplation. I feel it in myself and I see it in Simone. She's excited to be sharing the space. She's proud.
I set my things down. She takes her shoes off. We're both beaming. The grand tour begins. Simone does more than point out where the office is, which door leads to the bathroom and where I'll be sleeping. She tells her story. I hear about how the rooms have transformed over time, future plans for these rooms, why each object is special - what country it comes from, who gifted it. Together her belongings tell a symphony of stories.

From the looks of her house, one might suspect Simone to be all peace, all joy, all the time. The irony is that this home's beauty was born inside the sludge of grief. Simone is living through the aftermath of losing her mother and then her grandmother, leaving her to feel disoriented, vulnerable, sore. Knee deep in medical school, she must bring herself to read textbook chapters that poke and prod at her open wounds, detailing the inner workings of the disease that took her mother from her. Because the women in her family have been, as she describes them, “strongest in the face of adversity” Simone still shows up to class. She still cracks jokes. Her monumental despair coexists with her willingness to feel joy -- a testament to her mother’s impact.