was there a need, and in any case, what would be said? He was seldom there, and when he was, he acted as if a friend. Children don’t need a paternal friend; they need a father, and Alex was the farthest thing from father one could imagine. She gave Alex a hug, the hug you would give an Ambassador. Then—they looked at each other for a time…at last saying goodbye.
Free, Alex made way for home, taking the path set out by the attendant. It was dead, nobody about—playing a flat, muted hymn as if melodically lost. In fact, it was so quiet, the perverse once again could hear.
Ahead, the outline of a home was now evident. Like the rest of the place, the mark it depicted was moot, a mirage masking matter. As he, Alex that is, neared; he saw a muted form of the horseshoe present at the office. Good luck must follow the residents of Longport.
Reaching into a pants’ pocket, Alex pulled out the key, a unique shape, on the face of it like an old passkey. It was large, maybe to keep the residents of Longport from losing it, or maybe for ease of use. Perhaps both?
Carefully, coolly, Alex unlocked the door. As he opened it, the house seemed moved; afterward, breathing a sigh, as if relieved it finally had a lodger. Then—Alex passed, sensing at once an air of dark activity like that found in a cellar or a basement.
Motionlessly, he took steps into a next life.
O NCE T AILORED , Alex saw through the air. The home was plain, trite. A two bedroom plan—small living room, close kitchen with bar, and a single bathroom with toilet, sit—down shower, and tub. He also noted the tub came with whirlpool jets—to be sure, comfort he was seeking.
Alex stayed on this self—tour for the next hour or so, checking the floor for flaws, the walls for fault and any other woe that might make for a less than pleasant stay.
Then—out the window, a picture as may be of things to come. Alex could see about one—quarter mile away what looked like the shell of an old church. The tone it illustrated was a refreshing change to that seen thus far. The graying of the wood, clearly from lack of care. White paint peeling off an aging face. All telling a story.
The high style windows were true air apparent, bringing out the soul of what it once was; a place of praise. An old graying roof with single cross gracing the steeple was now the crowning glory it painted. Of firm regard was the lack; setting atop a small hill, cut off, as if giving up hope. A once lively place that has since lost meaning, standing now as a mark of the past.
“Nobody attends,” the voice said, “Forgive me, the door was open.”
“Come in,” Alex said calmly.
“I’m Don.”
“Alex.”
“I read you were here. How is it so far?”
“ Time will tell .”
“Yes; well, time is a wealth of which we all have a great deal here.”
“I’m looking forward to it.”
In a wink, without wind, word, or whisper, Don left, closing the door behind him.
Not one to dwell, Alex turned back to the window, blending with the comely rift, yet trying to understand how, “Nobody attends.”
Time pressed on while weighing the scene. Reflecting, Alex trembled, pushing on to sleep. By no means one to ignore life’s whims, he sat down— relaxed —falling asleep, resigning to a future.
A LEX W OKE to two women perching over him. It was not yet eight o’clock as the alarm had not sounded. He hated getting out of bed before eight—waiting…wondering why they were here, at this time. Then—one of the women left the room, later returning with a tray full of sundry breakfast items, eggs, bacon, biscuits, donuts, milk, toast, juice. It was all she could do to hold back enthusiasm, seemingly hoping he would try the items. He hated breakfast. Coffee, sure. But food, please . Yet, duty stood staring him in the face. If he did not abide, what kind of person would they think him? So, Alex selected the least sour item from the tray, a donut.
They were old, that
Free, Alex made way for home, taking the path set out by the attendant. It was dead, nobody about—playing a flat, muted hymn as if melodically lost. In fact, it was so quiet, the perverse once again could hear.
Ahead, the outline of a home was now evident. Like the rest of the place, the mark it depicted was moot, a mirage masking matter. As he, Alex that is, neared; he saw a muted form of the horseshoe present at the office. Good luck must follow the residents of Longport.
Reaching into a pants’ pocket, Alex pulled out the key, a unique shape, on the face of it like an old passkey. It was large, maybe to keep the residents of Longport from losing it, or maybe for ease of use. Perhaps both?
Carefully, coolly, Alex unlocked the door. As he opened it, the house seemed moved; afterward, breathing a sigh, as if relieved it finally had a lodger. Then—Alex passed, sensing at once an air of dark activity like that found in a cellar or a basement.
Motionlessly, he took steps into a next life.
O NCE T AILORED , Alex saw through the air. The home was plain, trite. A two bedroom plan—small living room, close kitchen with bar, and a single bathroom with toilet, sit—down shower, and tub. He also noted the tub came with whirlpool jets—to be sure, comfort he was seeking.
Alex stayed on this self—tour for the next hour or so, checking the floor for flaws, the walls for fault and any other woe that might make for a less than pleasant stay.
Then—out the window, a picture as may be of things to come. Alex could see about one—quarter mile away what looked like the shell of an old church. The tone it illustrated was a refreshing change to that seen thus far. The graying of the wood, clearly from lack of care. White paint peeling off an aging face. All telling a story.
The high style windows were true air apparent, bringing out the soul of what it once was; a place of praise. An old graying roof with single cross gracing the steeple was now the crowning glory it painted. Of firm regard was the lack; setting atop a small hill, cut off, as if giving up hope. A once lively place that has since lost meaning, standing now as a mark of the past.
“Nobody attends,” the voice said, “Forgive me, the door was open.”
“Come in,” Alex said calmly.
“I’m Don.”
“Alex.”
“I read you were here. How is it so far?”
“ Time will tell .”
“Yes; well, time is a wealth of which we all have a great deal here.”
“I’m looking forward to it.”
In a wink, without wind, word, or whisper, Don left, closing the door behind him.
Not one to dwell, Alex turned back to the window, blending with the comely rift, yet trying to understand how, “Nobody attends.”
Time pressed on while weighing the scene. Reflecting, Alex trembled, pushing on to sleep. By no means one to ignore life’s whims, he sat down— relaxed —falling asleep, resigning to a future.
A LEX W OKE to two women perching over him. It was not yet eight o’clock as the alarm had not sounded. He hated getting out of bed before eight—waiting…wondering why they were here, at this time. Then—one of the women left the room, later returning with a tray full of sundry breakfast items, eggs, bacon, biscuits, donuts, milk, toast, juice. It was all she could do to hold back enthusiasm, seemingly hoping he would try the items. He hated breakfast. Coffee, sure. But food, please . Yet, duty stood staring him in the face. If he did not abide, what kind of person would they think him? So, Alex selected the least sour item from the tray, a donut.
They were old, that
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