Her Father's Daughter
"Hey, Ebb?"
"Yeah?"
"Can ya help me with this box?"
"Alright."
As the pair of voiced traveled back and forth, they echoed against naked windows and through empty rooms. The owner of the feminine voice looked up and around the room as she finished securing the tape on a box labeled "fragile." Most of the old apartment's walls were bare with peeling wallpaper. The grey carpeting was somewhat ragged with old cigarette burns scattered about. Dusting off her hands, she followed the more masculine of the voices.
The soft thudding of boots upon the carpetting summoned the attention of an aged black man, who was sitting on the box in question. His well-trimmed, grey hair was lined with grey, he appeared to have an easygoing attitude, with deep brown eyes that voiced exactly what was on his mind. Now, they read of lethargy...as if something about the young woman reminded him of something or someone. The girl stopped just inside the remains of what had been a bedroom and laughed, bringing a smile to the man's face.
The lady before him was tall, close to six foot even with casual, natural tan skin. Her head was reddish brown while her eyes held an exotic hazel tone. Her top, ruby red, knit and only covered her mid-section...what had been exposed was concealed by a thin, loose, black blouse. She wore jeans with a black belt, which held the chain hooked to her blue flame wallet. Her boots, thought laced and tied, were strapped from toe to top which reached her knees. The sides of her hair were tightly braided to her scalp leading to just behind her ears, where clear rubber bands held them in place, the rest flowing back to meet the rest at her shoulders. When her laugh ceased, she sighed and shook her head, "Are you planning on kicking back for the rest of the day?"
"Oh, sure, Ebb. All I'm missing is a drink with a little umbrella. Now, let's get this box to the truck." He laughed, deep and soulful, as he stood and moved to the other side of the container. It was closer to a plastic tub than an actual box, with the letter CPD written on the lid in black permanent marker.
The young woman, while helping the older gentlemen, noticed the letters and tilted her head. "What's in here?" The inquiry came as she straightened her head. The man didn't answer her until they had reached the moving truck. "Pops, you look like you've seen a ghost."
"You can say that. No, I mean...that's just a bunch of souvenirs from the old days." he seemed to force a memory back into his subconscious.
"Speaking of the old days," a shorter, much older woman with bleach blonde hair walked up behind the man, "It's not going to be the same without you , Chief Albreht."
"You don't have to call me that. I'm retired now, remember, Darla."
"I know. The name just fits you." Darla smiled, but that couldn't get rid of the dark circles and placidness of a former junkie. Her deep set, brown eyes found their way to the younger female. "I swear, Ebony, you look so much like someone I met a long time ago..."
"Hey, Ebb?"
"Yeah?"
"Can ya help me with this box?"
"Alright."
As the pair of voiced traveled back and forth, they echoed against naked windows and through empty rooms. The owner of the feminine voice looked up and around the room as she finished securing the tape on a box labeled "fragile." Most of the old apartment's walls were bare with peeling wallpaper. The grey carpeting was somewhat ragged with old cigarette burns scattered about. Dusting off her hands, she followed the more masculine of the voices.
The soft thudding of boots upon the carpetting summoned the attention of an aged black man, who was sitting on the box in question. His well-trimmed, grey hair was lined with grey, he appeared to have an easygoing attitude, with deep brown eyes that voiced exactly what was on his mind. Now, they read of lethargy...as if something about the young woman reminded him of something or someone. The girl stopped just inside the remains of what had been a bedroom and laughed, bringing a smile to the man's face.
The lady before him was tall, close to six foot even with casual, natural tan skin. Her head was reddish brown while her eyes held an exotic hazel tone. Her top, ruby red, knit and only covered her mid-section...what had been exposed was concealed by a thin, loose, black blouse. She wore jeans with a black belt, which held the chain hooked to her blue flame wallet. Her boots, thought laced and tied, were strapped from toe to top which reached her knees. The sides of her hair were tightly braided to her scalp leading to just behind her ears, where clear rubber bands held them in place, the rest flowing back to meet the rest at her shoulders. When her laugh ceased, she sighed and shook her head, "Are you planning on kicking back for the rest of the day?"
"Oh, sure, Ebb. All I'm missing is a drink with a little umbrella. Now, let's get this box to the truck." He laughed, deep and soulful, as he stood and moved to the other side of the container. It was closer to a plastic tub than an actual box, with the letter CPD written on the lid in black permanent marker.
The young woman, while helping the older gentlemen, noticed the letters and tilted her head. "What's in here?" The inquiry came as she straightened her head. The man didn't answer her until they had reached the moving truck. "Pops, you look like you've seen a ghost."
"You can say that. No, I mean...that's just a bunch of souvenirs from the old days." he seemed to force a memory back into his subconscious.
"Speaking of the old days," a shorter, much older woman with bleach blonde hair walked up behind the man, "It's not going to be the same without you , Chief Albreht."
"You don't have to call me that. I'm retired now, remember, Darla."
"I know. The name just fits you." Darla smiled, but that couldn't get rid of the dark circles and placidness of a former junkie. Her deep set, brown eyes found their way to the younger female. "I swear, Ebony, you look so much like someone I met a long time ago..."