Midnight Break-in
2/2
“Stop, stop! Down!”
Nemo was greeting some stranger I had never seen before. The man’s clothes were ragged and much too large for him. There was a tired air about him but when I looked into his eyes, I saw youth that couldn’t have been that much older than myself.
“Wh-who are you?” I stammered, wincing at how timid my faltering voice sounded. As if in jerk-reaction, I held the baseball bat a little higher.
“Easy, now,” the man said, though I wasn’t sure if it was for me or for the dog who just happened to find his new best friend.
“Don’t tell me that. I want you out of this house. Now.”
“Now, wait, just hold on –”
“Stop saying that!” I said, moving closer. “You’re the one who broke in.”
“I didn’t break in,” he said, mocking my tone. He reached around his neck for a long chain and lifted it over his head. On the end of it was a dirty golden key, much like the key the house’s owners left me and the man dangled it in front of me. He then moved towards the side door that opened to the driveway, put the key in place, and turned it this way and that so that I heard the complacent click, click, click. “See?” he said. “It’s okay.”
“How did you get that key?” I asked, checking my own pockets and fingering the key that was given to me.
The man looked down but a tired smile beheld his face. “They gave it to me.”
“Name them.”
“Roger and Silvia Bath.”
“Anyone could have found that out with the Internet.”
“Can Facebook give me a key?”
“… No,” I relented.
“Right. So can you relax?”
“Maybe,” I said while lowering my choice of weapon.
When I hadn’t started interrogating him again, the man walked over to the kitchen table, took out a rickety chair, and sat in it as Nemo continued to fawn over him, though more calmly now. He hardly gave him any mind, however, other than an absent hand on the dog’s back as he leaned his head back and sighed through his nose.
“So, are you going to ask me any more questions?”
“I’m not sure yet.”
He nodded and pushed out the chair opposite him with his combat boot-clad foot. He pointed to the chair with an open hand and I, albeit reluctantly, took up the offer and sat down, letting the bat make a clunk sound as it dropped to the floor.
“Ask me why I got the key,” he told me as he straightened up in the chair.
I looked at him for a moment. I still had my phone in my jacket pocket, ready to make that call to 9-1-1 and end whatever that was. But there was something about it, about him really, that made me curious. So I yielded. “Why?”
He got up, and left the kitchen to the living room. He paused at a nightstand and picked up a framed photo. I saw him, for the briefest of moments, smile at whatever he saw but the look was erased from his face as he made his way back to the kitchen where I sat. He handed me the photo as he sat down in his chair.
“Because that’s me,” he said, pointing to a fresher faced teenager standing next to a four year-old Charlie just outside a Little League baseball field.
My eyes widened at him. I knew the photo well. I was told by Mrs. Bath about that photo only one time and in hushed tones when I had called about where to leave their mail. I had mentioned the photo in passing as I found it behind a lamp on the nightstand it resided upon but I ended up listening to this whole black sheep of the family story about their older boy, Max. I was told that he got mixed up with the wrong sorts of people and that he was threatened with juvie more than once but that wasn’t what stuck with me the most when hearing the story. It was that they referred to him as the “other son”. They didn’t even seem to know where he was.
“You’re Max.”
“I am,” he said, nodding as if in greeting. “And you are…?”
“I’m Melanie. I’m house sitting while the Baths are away.”
“Where are they going?”
“Montana.”
He laughed quietly. “I always wanted to go there.”
“Maybe they think that’s where you are. Maybe they’re –”
“Don’t say that they’re looking for me,” Max said, holding up his hand. “They’re not. Trust me. They had nine years to look for me and they never did.”
He didn’t run away. I knew that from Mrs. Bath and from overhearing the loud neighborhood gossip at a few block parties over the years. Max left the house at eighteen and in such a roar that even I, probably still in some Disney princess pajama set, woke up from the noise he caused that night all those years ago.
“I think I remember you,” he said. “You had a Red Flyer wagon, right? You used to pull around stuffed animals until you started pulling that baby around the neighborhood.”
“My sister,” I said, allowing myself to smile. “Emily.”
“Emily,” Max said as if committing to memory.
There was another long pause before either of us said anything. I looked to the window to our left and saw that snow was piling quickly and wondered what kind of apocalyptic weather Montana was having at that moment. I wondered about how it had been three nights since I last stayed up late with Emily, talking about movies, dresses, how well she did at her piano recital that day, and how relieved I was that the semester was over.
“Ask me why I’m here,” Max said, breaking my reverie.
“Why are you here, Max?”
He reached into his oversized coat pocket and pulled out a small box wrapped in newspaper and twine string. He turned it around in his hands before he leaned across the table and held it up to me.
“It’s a present,” he said. “For Charlie. I figured hand delivery would save me on stamps.”
“Yes, because gas is so much cheaper than stamps.”
He smiled. “Well, I hitch-hiked here.”
“Ah, that’s … an experience,” I allowed, returning the smile.
“It was the only way I knew I could get here before the big day.”
Max’s face suddenly grew serious. “I wanted him to open something on Christmas that was from me.” At that, he placed the gift on the table and stood up. He seemed to falter a bit and I was about to get up but he held up his hand once more to stop me. “Don’t worry about me,” he said.
“You’re not… I mean, I only ask because I’m concerned but you’re not –”
“I’m not drunk, if that’s what you’re getting at. But I haven’t been right in a long time.”
I got out of my chair despite him telling me not to and I guided him to the front door, noting the fallen over lamp and ballerina figurine on the floor. Max opened the door himself and looked out onto the street swept with a pure white sheet of snow that glowed in some parts red, blue, green, and gold from various strands of holiday lights from a multitude of festive homes.
“Where will you go?” I asked him, unsure of how I felt sending him off into the night.
In response, he held up a pre-paid cell phone and said, “Technology is wonderful.” He leaned out the door and seemed to recognize something so I followed suit. A pair of headlights that belonged to a yellow car made their way down the street. “And so are cabs.”
“Take care of you,” I said, though a bit quiet.
“I’ll try, Melanie the Red Flyer,” he promised as he smiled at me.
Nemo slowly trudged over and prodded Max’s hand to which he received a pat on his head.
As the taxi cab pulled up in front of the house, Max walked over to it and opened the passenger door. He turned around, though, and gazed about the house until his eyes rested on me. At first, I thought he was going to cry. But then he just smiled and said, “I’m glad you didn’t call the cops.”
I nodded and answered, “So am I.”
Nemo was greeting some stranger I had never seen before. The man’s clothes were ragged and much too large for him. There was a tired air about him but when I looked into his eyes, I saw youth that couldn’t have been that much older than myself.
“Wh-who are you?” I stammered, wincing at how timid my faltering voice sounded. As if in jerk-reaction, I held the baseball bat a little higher.
“Easy, now,” the man said, though I wasn’t sure if it was for me or for the dog who just happened to find his new best friend.
“Don’t tell me that. I want you out of this house. Now.”
“Now, wait, just hold on –”
“Stop saying that!” I said, moving closer. “You’re the one who broke in.”
“I didn’t break in,” he said, mocking my tone. He reached around his neck for a long chain and lifted it over his head. On the end of it was a dirty golden key, much like the key the house’s owners left me and the man dangled it in front of me. He then moved towards the side door that opened to the driveway, put the key in place, and turned it this way and that so that I heard the complacent click, click, click. “See?” he said. “It’s okay.”
“How did you get that key?” I asked, checking my own pockets and fingering the key that was given to me.
The man looked down but a tired smile beheld his face. “They gave it to me.”
“Name them.”
“Roger and Silvia Bath.”
“Anyone could have found that out with the Internet.”
“Can Facebook give me a key?”
“… No,” I relented.
“Right. So can you relax?”
“Maybe,” I said while lowering my choice of weapon.
When I hadn’t started interrogating him again, the man walked over to the kitchen table, took out a rickety chair, and sat in it as Nemo continued to fawn over him, though more calmly now. He hardly gave him any mind, however, other than an absent hand on the dog’s back as he leaned his head back and sighed through his nose.
“So, are you going to ask me any more questions?”
“I’m not sure yet.”
He nodded and pushed out the chair opposite him with his combat boot-clad foot. He pointed to the chair with an open hand and I, albeit reluctantly, took up the offer and sat down, letting the bat make a clunk sound as it dropped to the floor.
“Ask me why I got the key,” he told me as he straightened up in the chair.
I looked at him for a moment. I still had my phone in my jacket pocket, ready to make that call to 9-1-1 and end whatever that was. But there was something about it, about him really, that made me curious. So I yielded. “Why?”
He got up, and left the kitchen to the living room. He paused at a nightstand and picked up a framed photo. I saw him, for the briefest of moments, smile at whatever he saw but the look was erased from his face as he made his way back to the kitchen where I sat. He handed me the photo as he sat down in his chair.
“Because that’s me,” he said, pointing to a fresher faced teenager standing next to a four year-old Charlie just outside a Little League baseball field.
My eyes widened at him. I knew the photo well. I was told by Mrs. Bath about that photo only one time and in hushed tones when I had called about where to leave their mail. I had mentioned the photo in passing as I found it behind a lamp on the nightstand it resided upon but I ended up listening to this whole black sheep of the family story about their older boy, Max. I was told that he got mixed up with the wrong sorts of people and that he was threatened with juvie more than once but that wasn’t what stuck with me the most when hearing the story. It was that they referred to him as the “other son”. They didn’t even seem to know where he was.
“You’re Max.”
“I am,” he said, nodding as if in greeting. “And you are…?”
“I’m Melanie. I’m house sitting while the Baths are away.”
“Where are they going?”
“Montana.”
He laughed quietly. “I always wanted to go there.”
“Maybe they think that’s where you are. Maybe they’re –”
“Don’t say that they’re looking for me,” Max said, holding up his hand. “They’re not. Trust me. They had nine years to look for me and they never did.”
He didn’t run away. I knew that from Mrs. Bath and from overhearing the loud neighborhood gossip at a few block parties over the years. Max left the house at eighteen and in such a roar that even I, probably still in some Disney princess pajama set, woke up from the noise he caused that night all those years ago.
“I think I remember you,” he said. “You had a Red Flyer wagon, right? You used to pull around stuffed animals until you started pulling that baby around the neighborhood.”
“My sister,” I said, allowing myself to smile. “Emily.”
“Emily,” Max said as if committing to memory.
There was another long pause before either of us said anything. I looked to the window to our left and saw that snow was piling quickly and wondered what kind of apocalyptic weather Montana was having at that moment. I wondered about how it had been three nights since I last stayed up late with Emily, talking about movies, dresses, how well she did at her piano recital that day, and how relieved I was that the semester was over.
“Ask me why I’m here,” Max said, breaking my reverie.
“Why are you here, Max?”
He reached into his oversized coat pocket and pulled out a small box wrapped in newspaper and twine string. He turned it around in his hands before he leaned across the table and held it up to me.
“It’s a present,” he said. “For Charlie. I figured hand delivery would save me on stamps.”
“Yes, because gas is so much cheaper than stamps.”
He smiled. “Well, I hitch-hiked here.”
“Ah, that’s … an experience,” I allowed, returning the smile.
“It was the only way I knew I could get here before the big day.”
Max’s face suddenly grew serious. “I wanted him to open something on Christmas that was from me.” At that, he placed the gift on the table and stood up. He seemed to falter a bit and I was about to get up but he held up his hand once more to stop me. “Don’t worry about me,” he said.
“You’re not… I mean, I only ask because I’m concerned but you’re not –”
“I’m not drunk, if that’s what you’re getting at. But I haven’t been right in a long time.”
I got out of my chair despite him telling me not to and I guided him to the front door, noting the fallen over lamp and ballerina figurine on the floor. Max opened the door himself and looked out onto the street swept with a pure white sheet of snow that glowed in some parts red, blue, green, and gold from various strands of holiday lights from a multitude of festive homes.
“Where will you go?” I asked him, unsure of how I felt sending him off into the night.
In response, he held up a pre-paid cell phone and said, “Technology is wonderful.” He leaned out the door and seemed to recognize something so I followed suit. A pair of headlights that belonged to a yellow car made their way down the street. “And so are cabs.”
“Take care of you,” I said, though a bit quiet.
“I’ll try, Melanie the Red Flyer,” he promised as he smiled at me.
Nemo slowly trudged over and prodded Max’s hand to which he received a pat on his head.
As the taxi cab pulled up in front of the house, Max walked over to it and opened the passenger door. He turned around, though, and gazed about the house until his eyes rested on me. At first, I thought he was going to cry. But then he just smiled and said, “I’m glad you didn’t call the cops.”
I nodded and answered, “So am I.”