Never Trust a Crow

It was two in the morning here in Japan. Our eyes were wide as the full moon that floated in the sky. It was around noon in Jersey. I already hated the fourteen-hour time difference. The moon was like our sun. Everything is as backwards as I thought. Kudos to me. I thought to myself ‘Is this a parallel universe?’ Would the people here be less mischievous than the Jersey locals? I hardly thought so. People are people. They are the same everywhere.

My stomach suddenly gurgled loudly making my dad turn to me.

“You hungry Andi?” His voice was strained and tired; he was the only one who was worn out from the eighteen-hour flight.

A smile graced my lips as I spoke to him. “Just a little bit, but don’t worry about it.”

When we turned the corner we were met with a mass abundance of people. I never thought that Japan would be this populated. The old man who was driving at the time said that we weren’t even to the busy streets. I questioned his thoughts though. I couldn’t bring myself to believe the wrinkles on his face and his crooked ominous smile. Even during the night he said, the people of Japan are always conscious; I contemplated that as well. The towers loomed above in spite of our whereabouts on the outskirts of town. The height of these monsters petrified me. The small raindrops that collected on the window blurred out the bright lights of the city. The lights were always awake in Japan. Not once in my time there did they go to sleep. I guess the old man was right after all.

After passing what seemed to be miles of apartments, we found it. What I was supposed to call home. It was just another nook in a small apartment complex. But it was different than the others. My dad said it had character when he had shown me the printed high-gloss picture of it. But now as I stand in front of it I can truthfully say it’s a piece of crap.

Every window was covered with a thick coat of murky grime; broken glass lay in the arid flower bed, and lifeless vines crawled up the bright red bricks. The sidewalk leading up was painted with scorch marks and old cigarette butts. When we walked up to the door we were met with scratch marks that loitered the bottom of the entrance. This place was the aftermath of a hurricane.

“Hey buddy, it looks better in person. Right? It has a lot of potential.”

I glanced back at my dad and mustered up a fake smile. “It’s even better than I imagined. Thanks for going through all of this. It really means a lot.”

He looked up to the starry sky with a smile evident on is face, he definitely was proud of his choice. “No problem. Anything for my angel.”

When walking through the threshold we were met with a thick sheet of dust. Everything was caked with the tiny particles. Our apartment was made up of three compact rooms. The living room was the first to see when you entered. The walls were barren besides the rusty nails that barely hung off the wall. The cheap oatmeal colored wallpaper hung by a thin layer of glue. Its floors were made of vivid maroon heartwood that spread back into the bedroom. The only bedroom was all mine. Sure the floorboards creaked and the microscopic window only let in a beam of light. But this was my new sanctuary, my new haven.

“Hey kiddo,” My dad stepped into my room with me the floorboards creaking under his shifting feet. “I think this room suits you well.” His tongue ran over his chapped lips and his emerald eyes strayed up to the cracked ceiling. “Do you want a past-midnight snack?”

I shook my head ‘yes’ in response and his head turned, gleaming eyes meeting mine. With quick footing he was out of there.

My footsteps matched his as I followed his trail. “I think we only have stale chips left kiddo.” His lean fingers combed his straight hair out of his face. I followed him not minding the unappetizing snack I was about to receive. My stomach was just about to accept anything offered. He pulled out one of the suitcases we brought and rested it on the ghost-like ground. His nimble fingers found the zipper and tugged it down creating an abrupt zipping sound. The top opened to display the bag of stale chips. My hand quickly reached for the bag of old Tostitos, the blue-colored bag crinkling under my touch. With a quick pull the bag was open and my hand was submerged into the bag. My dads’ old hand soon followed. The chips weren’t too bad for being stale. A bit too salty, broken into little pieces, weird aftertaste, perfect for a practically empty stomach. Within minutes the bag was empty.

“Hey Andi, do you mind putting this out in the bin outside? I don’t think we have one in here yet by the looks of it.” His eyes began searching.

“No problem dad. I’ll be right back; and don’t worry, I’ll stay clear of weirdoes.”

My feet took me towards the door; my hand turned the cold bronze doorknob. The crisp air from outside slipped up my nose. I exhaled a cloud of carbon dioxide and it slipped up into the night sky.

“Hideous.” An affable voice said.

I practically jumped at the sound of the unfamiliar voice. My head cocked sideways to see a boy about my age smoking a thin cigarette. Thick foggy tendrils flowed out his thin nose. His plump pale pink lips gripped the cigarette just barely. His honey-golden eyes caught mine as he made more noise.

“Tisk tisk, hideous. Your new house I mean. They didn’t even bother to clean it up for you.”

His hands started to draw circles on the pavement. His long lean legs stayed motionless as he leaned his head back gazing at the moon.

“Well sense you’re here and all I should congratulate you on your move. But I should warn you, there has been some weird things happening around here. Wouldn’t want another pretty little face like yours to vanish.”

He suddenly jumped to his converse clad feet and stepped on the end of his forgotten cigarette. Like all the others that were scattered on my lawn, his was half used. He slowly made his way over to me, a guile smirk apparent on his face. Just as he passed me he whispered, “Welcome to the neighborhood.”

He smelled of cinnamon and cigarettes. He left me feeling dumbstruck, making me ask questions all over again. Why were people vanishing? How could he speak such good English? And, who was this mysterious character? I lifted the lid off the molding trashcan; and threw the old chip bag away. My feet moved away from the stench that the garbage emitted and towards the front door. I found my dad spread out on a makeshift bed made out of two old king-sized comforters. His head cast down concentrating on an old car magazine. I lay down next to him and listened to him hum an old Johnny Cash song. His voice wasn’t the best but it lulled me to sleep like any old story time book with torn and frayed pages. Like the ones you read with the heroes who saved the pretty princesses, and witches who's faces make blood run cold. But that night my dreams weren’t filled with the stories I listened to during my childhood. They were filled with a certain boy with midnight black hair who smelled of cinnamon and cigarettes.