Just a House?

Memphis squirmed in the passenger’s seat. The engine roared just above his shins as the car rattled along the old dirt road, if you could even call it that. Memphis figured he was riding along an obstacle course of giant potholes. The tires on the training sight weren’t this close together when jumped through hoops for Jarheads. Mud sprawled across the windshield. The car was sure to color of diarrhea rather than the sleek black it was at the police station.

Mr. Miller smiled apologetically. His knuckles turned white as he begged the car to stay on course. Its other option—the one it really seemed to favor—was to bounce into a lush tree trunk head first. Memphis prayed the seemingly pampered man could keep the engine between the ditches until he got to wherever he wanted to go.

Another pothole hocked a large mud loogie across the winshield just as the lush thicket opened into a field. The smell of dirt and rotten vegetables made Memphis’s empty stomach churn. Trees drooped in shame toward the back of the lot. The roof looked sunken, and the front steps leading to the porch was missing a few steps.

“This…” Memphis trailed off scanning the yard, falling on the dead brown shrubbery.

“I know.” Mr. Miller shook his head.

“It’s safe?” Memphis raised his brow. Mr. Miller grinned.

“As long as you stay close to the front parlor. The foundation is strongest there.” A swarm of insects hit the windshield. Memphis stared wide-eyed at his new employer. “Maybe we should go to the hardware store?” He suggested.

“Ya think?” Memphis rolled his eyes as he pushed his grimy hair out of his eyes. “Stop at the nearest truck stop too. I need a shower.”



A few hours and a lot of potholes later, Memphis already fixed the front steps, but the porch was dry rotted. The bug spray they bought stopped the house’s humming wouldn’t end the silent munching of the wood. “I need the exterminator ASAP. Reckon you can get ‘em out here?”

“I’ll make a few calls. The local pest control should be here by tomorrow.”

“Then the yard work it is!” Memphis exclaimed with a dull expression.

“That’s what the last contractor said.” He pointed to a tin shed that already rusted little. “It’s barely two years old. There’s a tiller and all sorts of seeds; some date back to the 40s. Apparently, the house wife that lived here had a green thumb.”

Memphis nodded by way of answer. The rotten vegetation, which was much easier to handle with some food in his belly, should fertilize the soil better than some name brand manure. “Where am I bunkin’ tonight?” He asked while walking toward the shed.

“There’s a B&B in town. I can take you there? We need to get you some sort of transportation too.”

Memphis shook his head. “Naw, I’m a walker. Those rattle traps scare the hell outta me anyhow.”

Mr. Miller nodded, not sure if he was talking about cars in general or if he meant the potholes in the mile long driveway. He got his answer when Memphis retorted, “I’ll fix ‘em, too, ‘fore I’m done here, I reckon.”

Memphis gave the lock a taunt snatch. The rusted chain crumbled. “The old bat ‘cross the street had the same problem.” Memphis chuckled. He pressed all his weight against the sliding metal before the door caught the guides and flew across the track. The hole in his sneaker ripped.

“Remind me to buy you some decent work boots, Son. I can’t have you getting sick in this rainy weather.”

“Betta start a list, Man. This is just the grunt work.” Memphis drug the tiller from its hiding place. “’Magine the rusted pipes and frayed wires when we get in there.” He smirked. “Your money will be spent ‘fore you know it on that rattrap. Ain’t no use in spendin’ on me, now.” Memphis figured Miller gave him the job for pity, but he didn’t want handouts. Well, not pity handouts, anyway.