Status: Active, work on it every now and then.
The Simplest Thing in the World
Four
Finally, twenty minutes later, we pull up in front of a five story brick building. It was nice. A few flowers dotted the entrance, making it welcoming. Harold handed the driver a piece of colored paper with a woman on it.
“Well, what do you think?” He asked me.
I shrugged, looking up, “It’s no Buckingham Palace, but I suppose it’ll do,” I joked, offering a small smile.
Harold grinned, “Already making English jokes, I see. You’ll fit in just fine, love.”
He led me up three flights of stairs. I drug my suitcase up slowly. You never really notice how much shit you have until you’re forced to pack it all up and take it with you. I itched to unpack it all.
My grandfather stopped in front of a white door just off the stair case bearing two, black wooden pieces, and began searching his pockets for the key.
“You’re kidding me, right?” I asked, slightly amused.
“What do you mean?”
I gestured to the door, “You live in apartment 3D?”
“Yes,” he replied, eyebrows knitting together in confusion.
I could see he honestly didn't see the humor of this and decided to let it go.
“Never mind,” I said as he slid the key into the lock.
We stepped inside. The apartment practically sparkled. It was incredibly clean, which fit me just fine. I’d always been a bit of a neat freak, putting everything in a specific place. The carpet was a deep brown and looked brand new, although I assumed it had been around for a long while. There was a small, white love seat and two reclining chairs on either side of it. An orange cat came trotting up to me, sniffing all my bags before rubbing up against my legs.
I reached down to pet it, “I didn’t know you had a cat. I had a black one back home. Her name was Steve, but I had to give her to a friend of mine since I came here.”
Harold placed his keys in a bowl on a nearby table and hung up his coat.
“This is Orion. We've had him for a couple of years. He’s Ruth’s cat for the most part.”
“Where is Grandma Ruth?”
“She’s in our room taking a kip, I assume. You know, I should warn you, Celia. Your grandmother is not quite the same person you once knew. She’s changed quite a bit.”
Confused, I answered, “Well…if it makes you feel better I don’t really remember either of you all that well anyways…”
He clapped his hands together softly, “Well, then. What do you say we get you settled in? Would you like to see your room?”
“Uh…sure,” I responded, ignoring the one eighty conversation turn.
He led me down a small hallway that lay nestled between the living room and kitchen almost as if it were dividing the large room into two separate ones. Pictures hung along the hallway. There was an old (and I mean old) school photo of mine, a few of my father and uncle, and one of Harold and Ruth on their wedding day. I stopped and examined it. Ruth looked beautiful. Her face was young, carefree, and unbelievably happy. The same went for Harold. They looked like the perfect couple. At the very end of the hallway he stood with a door opened.
“Here we are.”
The room was smaller than mine had been back in Chicago, but it seemed cozy. A bed sat in the corner to the left and a desk to the right. A small bookcase rested under the window.
“I guess I’ll leave you to unpack.”
He shuffled toward the door slightly before turning back to me once more.
“The book there,” he pointed at the shelf. “They were your father’s. I thought you like to have them. This room, actually, was Carter’s. I heard you rather fancy books, so I made sure to keep them for you.”
My eyes started watering, so I nodded.
“Thank you.”
“I thought maybe around noon we could go out for lunch. I’m sure you must be extremely hungry by now. I could show you around the city too if you’d like.”
“That would be nice,” I replied, setting my things down on the bed.
At the moment, I just wanted some time alone. Time to think, to unpack, to breathe.
He nodded, exiting the room with a smile. I wondered if this whole arrangement was as strange to him as it was to me. I mean, I was an American teenager. I’m sure there are all sorts of awful stigmas associated with me. I kicked off my shoes and sat down at the desk, pulling my laptop out of my backpack and setting it down. My dad used to sit here, I thought to myself. Back when he was my age, before he even knew my mother, and before he probably even though about having a kid. This room was most likely filled with wonderful memories, but all I could think of was how my dad probably never imagined his life would be so short. Then again he never would have thought his only daughter would be the reason he was dead.
“Well, what do you think?” He asked me.
I shrugged, looking up, “It’s no Buckingham Palace, but I suppose it’ll do,” I joked, offering a small smile.
Harold grinned, “Already making English jokes, I see. You’ll fit in just fine, love.”
He led me up three flights of stairs. I drug my suitcase up slowly. You never really notice how much shit you have until you’re forced to pack it all up and take it with you. I itched to unpack it all.
My grandfather stopped in front of a white door just off the stair case bearing two, black wooden pieces, and began searching his pockets for the key.
“You’re kidding me, right?” I asked, slightly amused.
“What do you mean?”
I gestured to the door, “You live in apartment 3D?”
“Yes,” he replied, eyebrows knitting together in confusion.
I could see he honestly didn't see the humor of this and decided to let it go.
“Never mind,” I said as he slid the key into the lock.
We stepped inside. The apartment practically sparkled. It was incredibly clean, which fit me just fine. I’d always been a bit of a neat freak, putting everything in a specific place. The carpet was a deep brown and looked brand new, although I assumed it had been around for a long while. There was a small, white love seat and two reclining chairs on either side of it. An orange cat came trotting up to me, sniffing all my bags before rubbing up against my legs.
I reached down to pet it, “I didn’t know you had a cat. I had a black one back home. Her name was Steve, but I had to give her to a friend of mine since I came here.”
Harold placed his keys in a bowl on a nearby table and hung up his coat.
“This is Orion. We've had him for a couple of years. He’s Ruth’s cat for the most part.”
“Where is Grandma Ruth?”
“She’s in our room taking a kip, I assume. You know, I should warn you, Celia. Your grandmother is not quite the same person you once knew. She’s changed quite a bit.”
Confused, I answered, “Well…if it makes you feel better I don’t really remember either of you all that well anyways…”
He clapped his hands together softly, “Well, then. What do you say we get you settled in? Would you like to see your room?”
“Uh…sure,” I responded, ignoring the one eighty conversation turn.
He led me down a small hallway that lay nestled between the living room and kitchen almost as if it were dividing the large room into two separate ones. Pictures hung along the hallway. There was an old (and I mean old) school photo of mine, a few of my father and uncle, and one of Harold and Ruth on their wedding day. I stopped and examined it. Ruth looked beautiful. Her face was young, carefree, and unbelievably happy. The same went for Harold. They looked like the perfect couple. At the very end of the hallway he stood with a door opened.
“Here we are.”
The room was smaller than mine had been back in Chicago, but it seemed cozy. A bed sat in the corner to the left and a desk to the right. A small bookcase rested under the window.
“I guess I’ll leave you to unpack.”
He shuffled toward the door slightly before turning back to me once more.
“The book there,” he pointed at the shelf. “They were your father’s. I thought you like to have them. This room, actually, was Carter’s. I heard you rather fancy books, so I made sure to keep them for you.”
My eyes started watering, so I nodded.
“Thank you.”
“I thought maybe around noon we could go out for lunch. I’m sure you must be extremely hungry by now. I could show you around the city too if you’d like.”
“That would be nice,” I replied, setting my things down on the bed.
At the moment, I just wanted some time alone. Time to think, to unpack, to breathe.
He nodded, exiting the room with a smile. I wondered if this whole arrangement was as strange to him as it was to me. I mean, I was an American teenager. I’m sure there are all sorts of awful stigmas associated with me. I kicked off my shoes and sat down at the desk, pulling my laptop out of my backpack and setting it down. My dad used to sit here, I thought to myself. Back when he was my age, before he even knew my mother, and before he probably even though about having a kid. This room was most likely filled with wonderful memories, but all I could think of was how my dad probably never imagined his life would be so short. Then again he never would have thought his only daughter would be the reason he was dead.