school, we both played football and Dad was one hundred percent
involved. The day I told him I was going to fight for our country, he gripped my shoulder
tightly, and with tears in his eyes, he told me, “Son, I’m proud of you.”
I blink back tears of the memory. We had the most amazing parents in the world, and
now they are gone. Life just isn’t fair. After I went on to the service, my brother
slipped down a path of destruction. When I would speak to my parents, they would sadly
tell me about his newest antics with drugs, alcohol, and women. It infuriated me,
but there was nothing I could do from halfway around the world. Of course, he’d never
take any of my calls because he knew I would just bitch him out.
My memories are cut short as we pull up in front of the shabby and rundown apartment
building. Sighing, I hand over some money to the driver and pull my bag out of the
cab. Why did I think coming here would be a good idea? Oh yeah, I was just cleaning
up his messes once again.
Shaking my head, I climb up the steps and enter the building. I am met with the smell
of stale smoke and mildew. It is nauseating, but I ignore it. Seeing someone in the
office by the front door, I step in the doorway to the room. Instantly, I find the
source of the stale smoke. An older woman is smoking her cigarette like it might be
the last.
I clear my throat and she spins around in her chair. “Can I help you?” she asks. Her
voice is raspy and typical of someone who smokes continually.
“Yeah, I’m Lane Braxton. Remember me from six months ago? I’m here about apartment
2A. I just need to pick up the keys.” I run my free hand through my hair and down
to the back of my neck. It’s sore from all of the traveling, and I just want to go
to bed. I rub the aching muscles while she digs around in her desk drawer.
“Ah, of course. Here they are. Mr. Braxton, I’m—” she begins sadly, but I wave her
off and snatch the keys from her hand.
“I’m tired. Thank you,” I say, effectively cutting her off.
After stalking toward the stairwell, I push through the doors into a dark, disgusting
place. This place is shitty at best. Once the lease is up, I am going to find someplace
else to stay. I make my way to the second floor and pass the only other apartment
on this floor. There aren’t any noises coming from the door, so thankfully I may live
next to someone quiet.
I step up to the apartment and slide the key in. Not pushing it open yet, I take in
a deep breath as I prepare to enter his apartment. His mess. I shake my head as I
push through and try to ignore the conflicting feelings of anger and sadness. Turning
on a light, I see that the place is a disaster. No surprise there. It looks exactly
as it did six months ago. Boxes litter every inch of the space from my first unsuccessful
attempt at cleaning it up. At the time, I only had a few days to take care of business
before I had to get back to my post. Now, I have all the time in the world.
Dropping my bag to the floor, I bypass the mess and head straight for the bedroom.
A good night’s rest is in order before I will have the energy to start on all of this.
Finding the edge of the bed, I fall onto it and immediately pass out.
The sound of squeaky pipes wakes me up. After thirty minutes of the annoying sound,
I finally get up and take a quick hot shower. When I get out, I can still hear the
water running from the apartment next door. What the fuck? That shit is as annoying
as hell, and I’ll be damned if I have to listen to that every day. Grumbling, I get
dried off and step out into the bedroom. The pipes have stopped their whining, but
now I can hear a loud television.
Someone is jamming out next door to some ‘80s music on their TV and it’s grating on
my already frayed nerves. This cheap-ass apartment has the thinnest walls. Finally
tired of hearing this crap, I stalk over to the
involved. The day I told him I was going to fight for our country, he gripped my shoulder
tightly, and with tears in his eyes, he told me, “Son, I’m proud of you.”
I blink back tears of the memory. We had the most amazing parents in the world, and
now they are gone. Life just isn’t fair. After I went on to the service, my brother
slipped down a path of destruction. When I would speak to my parents, they would sadly
tell me about his newest antics with drugs, alcohol, and women. It infuriated me,
but there was nothing I could do from halfway around the world. Of course, he’d never
take any of my calls because he knew I would just bitch him out.
My memories are cut short as we pull up in front of the shabby and rundown apartment
building. Sighing, I hand over some money to the driver and pull my bag out of the
cab. Why did I think coming here would be a good idea? Oh yeah, I was just cleaning
up his messes once again.
Shaking my head, I climb up the steps and enter the building. I am met with the smell
of stale smoke and mildew. It is nauseating, but I ignore it. Seeing someone in the
office by the front door, I step in the doorway to the room. Instantly, I find the
source of the stale smoke. An older woman is smoking her cigarette like it might be
the last.
I clear my throat and she spins around in her chair. “Can I help you?” she asks. Her
voice is raspy and typical of someone who smokes continually.
“Yeah, I’m Lane Braxton. Remember me from six months ago? I’m here about apartment
2A. I just need to pick up the keys.” I run my free hand through my hair and down
to the back of my neck. It’s sore from all of the traveling, and I just want to go
to bed. I rub the aching muscles while she digs around in her desk drawer.
“Ah, of course. Here they are. Mr. Braxton, I’m—” she begins sadly, but I wave her
off and snatch the keys from her hand.
“I’m tired. Thank you,” I say, effectively cutting her off.
After stalking toward the stairwell, I push through the doors into a dark, disgusting
place. This place is shitty at best. Once the lease is up, I am going to find someplace
else to stay. I make my way to the second floor and pass the only other apartment
on this floor. There aren’t any noises coming from the door, so thankfully I may live
next to someone quiet.
I step up to the apartment and slide the key in. Not pushing it open yet, I take in
a deep breath as I prepare to enter his apartment. His mess. I shake my head as I
push through and try to ignore the conflicting feelings of anger and sadness. Turning
on a light, I see that the place is a disaster. No surprise there. It looks exactly
as it did six months ago. Boxes litter every inch of the space from my first unsuccessful
attempt at cleaning it up. At the time, I only had a few days to take care of business
before I had to get back to my post. Now, I have all the time in the world.
Dropping my bag to the floor, I bypass the mess and head straight for the bedroom.
A good night’s rest is in order before I will have the energy to start on all of this.
Finding the edge of the bed, I fall onto it and immediately pass out.
The sound of squeaky pipes wakes me up. After thirty minutes of the annoying sound,
I finally get up and take a quick hot shower. When I get out, I can still hear the
water running from the apartment next door. What the fuck? That shit is as annoying
as hell, and I’ll be damned if I have to listen to that every day. Grumbling, I get
dried off and step out into the bedroom. The pipes have stopped their whining, but
now I can hear a loud television.
Someone is jamming out next door to some ‘80s music on their TV and it’s grating on
my already frayed nerves. This cheap-ass apartment has the thinnest walls. Finally
tired of hearing this crap, I stalk over to the
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