Nothing in This World Can Be Endured Forever

And look at what life has given Bill now – a basket of clean laundry and three loads of dirty colors. The washer and dryer shook with work, and so did Bill. The warm clothes he was carefully folding over the dryer made him envy their ease at warmth. His slender fingers worked the material into neat piles, separating them by who’s were who’s. The house, quiet for an empty day like Sunday, was a warm sixty-nine degrees, but still Bill felt a chill. It could have been the warmth radiating from the clothes he diligently folded or the dryer, but he was sure it was the thin material that hung of his thin frame.

Folding the last pink undergarment (that made Bill’s cheeks heat up to impossible levels); he carefully placed the clothes into the blue basket and silently left the room, being sure to close the door as softly as possible. He crept toward the hall stairs, watching out for the floorboards that groaned under pressure. Taking the stairs with ease, Bill breathed through his nose, his teeth grinding together at the pain from his ankle. His knuckles white against the plastic handle, he gritted through the pain and sighed relief when he reached the landing.

Padding down the hall to Bianca’s clearly labeled door, Bill carefully nudged the white wood open with his shoulder. Just as he assumed, his sixteen year old half-sister was asleep in her luxurious bed. Making sure he took great care to stay silent, he put her clothes neatly in the white and pink dresser, not daring to glance any where else in the room. Once Bill shut the drawers, he crept back outside the room, pulling the door an inch from latching.

Fallowing the same procedure, Bill put the twins’ clothes in their rightful places and headed back downstairs. Glancing at the clock, Bill registered that in exactly four minutes and nineteen seconds, he would have to begin making breakfast. Returning the basket to the laundry room, Bill’s bare feet lead his lanky body across the kitchen to the refrigerator. He opened the stainless steel door and pulled out the carton of eggs in the door, having to lift himself painfully onto his toes to reach. Slowly bringing himself back down, Bill grabbed the milk and cheese also. He shut the door and moved to the counters, setting his ingredients down on the marble counter top. Leaning against it for support, Bill reached above his head to the cupboard and pulled down a large bowl to mix the eggs, milk and cheese in.

After doing so, he pulled a large pan from another cupboard and sprayed it with Pam before setting it on a burner and turning it on to the setting just between medium and high temperatures. He waited the thirty seconds for the pan to warm before slowly pouring half of the yellow mixture into the pan. Putting his weight on his left foot as much as he could to avoid hurting his right ankle more, Bill made the scrambled eggs just the way the family liked them.

All too soon in Bill’s opinion, the eggs, bacon, buttered toast and corned beef were done and already in dishes on the set table. Bill had just finished pouring the last glass of milk when the family meandered in and took their respective seats. They didn’t acknowledge Bill’s presence. Bill left the room as they began to fill their plates. He put away the left over ingredients and quickly yet quietly cleaned up his mess.

He drew the water from the tap and let the sink fill with bubbles and water before dunking the utensils below the surface. He grabbed a blue rag out from underneath the sink and began to wash the pans, bowls and utensils he had dirtied.

Bill cleared the table and had the food already taken care of when Jorg entered the kitchen. Bill was just draining the sink from the dirty water and was about to head out when he caught the gaze of Jorg. Bill’s breath caught in his throat and his heart started to beat erratically. His head instinctively bowed, his eyes fixating on the kitchen tiles rather than the elder man’s face.

“Don’t answer the phone, the door or speak to anyone, you hear?” Jorg commanded. “You will tend to the garden and it better be done correctly this time. At six take the stakes out. The potatoes will be mashed and ready for when we eat at seven thirty. Got it?”

Bill nodded. Garden, stakes at six, potatoes at six forty-five, Bill thought to himself. The silence that remained after his nod, Bill took as dismissal and quickly hobbled from the room.

Sunday’s were full on work days, more than the rest of the week. The family would go out to eat for lunch and do something (Bill never knew what they did) until around seven. Bill always stayed behind, doing all types of work. This Sunday and the following few, because the summer was at it’s height, was a lot of outdoor work – mostly gardening and other backbreaking work Kathleen didn’t want to do.

Heading out to the garden shed, Bill silently cursed his aching ankle. The hot sun beat down on his back as he tended to the rose bush in the far corner. Pruning the dying flowers and watering the large bush took little time, but the sun’s rays were unforgiving. Bill was tempted to take off his large shirt, and just work in his shorts, but he didn’t want to risk sunburn again.

By noon, Bill was covered in sweat and dirt coated his face from the work. He carried in a basket of fresh fruit and vegetables and arranged them correctly in the fridge, hoping that Jorg would be happy with the fresh food.

Washing his hands in the large basin in the laundry room, Bill quickly switched the loads over and began the next. He folded the clothes, taking great care to keep them away from the dirt and sweat on him. After he put the twins’ clothes away, he hobbled back downstairs and out into the garden to finish the days work.

Grabbing the watering can, Bill headed out to the front to take care of the small garden on display. He bent over in front of the house, his hand planted firmly on the ground before he lowered himself onto his knees as slowly as he could to avoid any pain.

As he began to prune the flowers, he heard the neighbor kids playing in their yard, screaming and laughing with their fun. Bill felt envious, angry even, that he couldn’t enjoy that same happiness they did. He was stuck weeding and doing grown-up work while everyone around him got to have fun and enjoy the hot day by playing with friends in the front yard or with siblings that were nice.

Bill dared to glance over at the neighbor kids playing, taking in their happy faces. Suzy, the younger of the two kids, was splashing happily in her small pool while her big brother, Keith, was jumping through the sprinkler set up farther down the lawn with his friend from down the block. Both of their moms, Bill noticed as his eyes flickered up to the porch, were watching the three play as they talked.

As Bill’s gaze returned to the flowers in front of him, the two mothers on the porch struck up a conversation about him, though he didn’t have the slightest idea of it.

“That boy, he’s about Keith’s age, right?” Judy asked her friend, her gaze on the lanky boy hunched over the flower bed next door.

Christy looked over of Bill, frowning. “I suppose so.” Her lips were set in a tight frown.

“That’s odd. What’s he doing tending to the flowers when the rest of his family just left?”

Christy shrugged her shoulders, unconcerned with the boy next door. “They say he’s a bad kid. That he gets into all sorts of trouble, very rebellious. I haven’t heard a damn thing from him that would be something a boy his age would do. There’s been no fireworks or explosives, nothing. I haven’t even heard the boy speak!” she gossiped.

“Oh,” Judy frowned, turning back to look at the kids in the yard. “Why would they leave him behind? That’s not right, Christy. You don’t leave a boy like that alone…”

“Don’t know,” Christy shrugged, looking back at the children playing in her yard. “He doesn’t play with my kids.”

The subject was dropped for the time being, and they both returned to watching their kids, ignoring the neighbor boy.

After some time of kneeling to weed, Bill’s ankle ached. He’d tried to keep his body weight off of it, but constantly leaning over plants was very difficult to do balanced on one foot. Hobbling over to the front spout, Bill filled the watering can and began to thoroughly douse the plants. The sun was unbearable and Bill wanted more than anything to be able to join the boy next door for a few minutes, just enough time to run through the sprinkler a few times to cool off. He was no longer shivering, but Bill almost wished he was. He could feel the suns rays beating down on his scalp and neck, which resulted in a headache and a painful neck.

Bill finished up the gardening, and quickly headed inside. The dryer was buzzing just as he walked through the door. Moving slowly, limping more than he had since he’d gotten the injury, Bill washed his hands before folding the clothes. This set was much less embarrassing for Bill, though he was dreading putting them away, all the way upstairs.

He took the stairs slowly, clenching his jaw and gripping the edge of the basket so tightly, his knuckles stuck out in white knobs. As he steadied himself on the landing, the phone rang, piercing the silence of the house. Bill’s heart thumped in his chest painfully as he moved away from the stairs, afraid of falling down them like the last time the phone caught him by surprise.

Out of curiosity, Bill moved toward the phone on the table down the hall. Picking it off of the charger, he glanced at the caller ID with no intention of answering. Mr. Gordon Trümper. Bill, with no surprise, didn’t know who was calling and returned the phone to the charger, carefully continuing on down the hall as the phone continued to ring.