The Chambers Residence

Date of events: Monday, May 9

The next Monday afternoon, as the light began to fade, I finished the cleanup feeling like the air had barely moved since the day began. I scooped the tips I had earned out of my apron pocket and counted them in the palm of my hand. 25 cents. Far from the two or three dollars I would usually be handed. Stepping out onto the street, I looked in the direction of the gleaming new diner down the road. "Mickey's", they called it. I thought it was a marketing ploy to pull the kids in, but it wasn't just the youth sampling the freshness of a new diner. I recognized so many familiar faces, regulars from our diner, venturing over there to test out the competition.

I realized that it was early days, and things might work out for us. Maybe Mickey's wouldn't live up to it's hype, and we'd have our customers back and all would be well and good. The internal struggle between worrying and trying to convince myself not to worry became too much. I needed to get my head into another space. I stashed the colored pencils and one pack of crayons I had bought into my pack and went searching for Chris.

It didn't take long to find out where Chris lived, although the folks I asked thought I was crazy for wanting to visit him. They pointed me to the residential streets near the industrial area which is close to the logging plant, about a half-hour walk from town.

I found the street easy enough. There weren't any sidewalks in that area, but there wasn't much traffic either, so walking on the road wasn't a big deal. I was told to go to the last house on the street, nestled among the bushes outskirts at the edge of the neighborhood.

Sure enough, at the end of the street stood a lone two-storied house surrounded by the towering overgrowth of bushes and trees. It appeared sturdy, but there were obvious signs of neglect every which way you looked. Weatherboards had deteriorated and come loose from their rusty nails. The algae covered guttering drooped in places, weighed down by leaves and debris that should have been cleared out long ago. The profound silence of the property gave it an unsettling sense of abandonment.

There was one potential sign that someone might be home though - there was a pitch black Impala parked out front. Now, don't think I know anything about cars, because I don't. That's just what the chrome said. You know, that little logo cars have on the rear fender. It had the impala animal jumping over the flags. Now, I said I know nothing about cars, but I do know this - The Chevy Impalas are brand spanking new. They have only been on the market for a couple of years. But this one looked like someone had taken it for a joyride through the outback Nevada deserts and back again. Its sleek, angular body was brushed from grille to tail with scratches, scuffs, and dust, and the once-glossy finish had dulled, its deep black shade now weathered and worn.

With my wits about me, I walked down the barren driveway toward the front door and discovered a faded note nailed to it.

Door fucked. Use back.

"Right…" I ummed and ahhed for a while, wondering if I should keep searching for Chris or go home. Going behind someone else's property felt like trespassing. Eventually, I figured, I'd come this far, and anyway, the sign told me to. I waded through a sea of waist high weeds before landing on a barren, dirt patch and finding a small porch around the back of the house, hidden away from view. There were a few wooden toys out there - a bike, a toy horsie and a rusty, tin dump truck.

The back door stood wide open, and it was fronted by a ratty fly screen that swung back and forth, gently tapping against the doorframe in the breeze. Gathering my courage, I lightly knocked on the wooden frame.

The house remained silent.

I peered down the long hallway as well as I could, noticing the bare wooden floors and torn wallpaper, and it was then that I spotted him. A little boy, no older than five, peered around one of the doorways. I could only see one eye and a mop of blond hair until he stepped out, seemingly curious about my being there. He stood barefoot, and his legs were streaked with dirt like he'd been playing in the mud all morning. With his cute, roundish face and an upturned button nose, he was a miniature of Chris.

"Hi, is your mommy home?" I asked him. "Or your big brother, Chris?"

"Mama's not here," he replied in a tiny voice before bolting back into the room, out of sight.

I knocked again, a little louder this time, and out rang the voice of a mature male. "I heard ya! Hold your fuckin' horses!"

A gray-headed, unshaven, beer-bellied man staggered out of the room at the end of the hallway and dragged his feet all the way to the door. He opened the fly screen and held the doorway for support as his bloodshot eyes ran up and down and all over me. You could tell that he'd been handsome in his younger days, but years of alcohol abuse had buried his good looks underneath blue skin and thread veins.

"What?" he sniveled.

"Hi… I'm looking for Chris?"

"What the fuck's he done now?"

"No, it's not like that. He helped me out and I need to repay him."

He looked at me suspiciously. "You're trying to bullshit me. I know who you are. You're another one of 'dem social workers. Well, I look after my kids good, you hear? At least I don't piss off like their fuckin' mother does every other week!"

"Woah, woah, I'm not a social worker. I'm just a friend."

"Friend? Ha!" he said, looking me up and down. "You think I'm stupid? You social workers are all full of shit and lies. Now get the fuck off my property and leave us alone!"

He slammed the fly screen in my face and tried to slam the back door too, but it was stuck firmly on its rusty hinges.

"Ah fuck! Worthless piece of fucking shit!" He swung his fist at the door, yelled in pain, and then booted the door over and over with his tough-toed work boots as if it were some jerk who had mouthed off to him in a bar. His foot finally went straight through the bottom panel, and only then did he seem satisfied that the door had paid its dues.

He took a step back and paused for a moment to catch his breath. "Now, where's my bottle?" He then trudged back down the hallway and skulked back into the lair from which he had emerged.

I had backed off the deck to avoid getting hit by flying anger, and stood frozen, staring at him, disbelieving how over the top this guy went over nothing.

I noticed the little boy peering around the doorframe once more. His timid little eyes met mine, and then he swiftly pulled back into the room, disappearing from my view. I waited for a while to see if he'd return, in case he needed me or something, but he never did.

Lost in my thoughts and, I'll admit, a little shaken by what just happened, I wandered back along the dirt pathway.

"Hey, Sweets, you okay?"

The laid-back, sluggish voice snapped me out of my thoughts. A guy, my age, possibly older, was perched on a window with his legs dangling out, just a few feet ahead.

"Sounds like you had a run-in with old man Chambers," he chuckled before taking a heavy drag from his cigarette.

"You're... Chris's brother?"

"Name's Rich. But everyone calls me Eyeball."

I took a moment to size him up. He had a masculine cuteness about him and a naturally large stature, just like his younger brother, but that was the extent of their resemblance. Chris had blue eyes and short, kempt blonde hair, but this guy had brown eyes and a greasy mess of chocolate curls that he slicked in the back but allowed to roam wild in the front. Actually… he looked like a youthful, unpotbellied version of his old man…

Am I gonna say it? Yeah, fine, I'm gonna say it. He was ahotversion of his old man. Dressed in a plain white t-shirt that clung to his well-defined chest and broad shoulders, he exuded an effortless and carefree confidence about him.

As he turned around a little more, I noticed a scar at the corner of his eye that looked like someone had melted the flesh with a cigarette. The gossipmongers at the diner had painted a grim picture of him - he was destined for jail, they said. Even Chris had a low opinion of him. But I take what people say with a grain of salt. That's just the way I am. And I'm pretty straight laced when it comes to guys - bad boys are far off my radar and for good reason.

But… it never hurts to look right?

Rich's eyes wandered the length of me, and the corner of his lip curled into a smile.

I blushed a little as I realized I was staring.

"So, what are you doin' here?" he asked before taking another drag.

"I'm looking for Chris."

"The runt ain't here. What do you want with him?"

"Runt? He's bigger than most kids his age and just as smart. What part of that speaks 'runt' to you?" I snapped.

"Calm down, Sweets," he laughed, dropping the butt into the pile of them littered on the dirt patch below him. "Why you gettin' so protective?"

"Sorry… I guess, being brothers, you hassle each other all the time."

"Ain't just that. He walks around like his shit don't stink."

I shot him a look. "I think you're taking him the wrong way. He wants to do better, he wants to get somewhere in life. There's nothing wrong with having ambition."

"You sayin' that 'cause he's tryin'a get into those stupid college courses?" he scoffed. "He don't know no school stuff. He'll flunk it."

"Yeah, he will - if no one's got his back. All he needs is someone in his corner. He has potential."

Rich stared back at me as if I had a screw hanging loose, and I accepted that we were just not going to see eye to eye on this.

"I gotta go," I said. "It was good meeting you... I guess."

No sooner had I turned my back, he said, "Chris ain't no better than the rest of us."

I turned around, looking him straight in those dark eyes that were so carefree and yet… not. "I never said he was."

His expression softened, and he gazed at me questioningly as if he got my point but was surprised I had made it. At that moment, I wondered about him. Perhaps if someone hadhadhis back rather than society beingonhis back, things might have worked out differently for him.

"Chris said you're an amazing artist, by the way."

His jaw dropped a fraction of an inch. "He really said that?"

"Well, it's true, isn't it? I'd love to see some of your work some time."

He nodded, still with that frown of pure shock. "Hey, you need a ride somewhere?"

"Is that your car out front?"

"Yeah. You need a lift?"

I smirked. I knew that would be his ride. "Thanks, but I'm okay. Maybe another time. But, listen, if you see Chris, tell him Cassie has something for him."

His surprise lingered in those dark eyes as they roved down the length of me, the corners of his mouth curling into a smile.