Braving The Storm

12 - Battles

At 7 o'clock in the morning, the demolition crew arrived my bungalow. The grinding of heavy machinery woke me up. I got out of bed with a grumble and washed my face, ignorant of the constant knocks on my front door.

After a good shower and a cereal breakfast, I finally answered the door.

A man stood there in a yellow builder's helmet and work clothes. “I've been knocking for more than ten minutes, miss.”

I tapped my ear, feigning unclarity. “Sorry, couldn't hear.”

He grimaced then held out a hand. “I'm Tobey Jefferson. My crew and I are—”

“Here to raze my house to the ground for Irving.” I faked a beam. “I know who you are.”

Tobey heaved a sigh. “You were supposed to evacuate the building before sunrise, miss.”

I shrugged. “Of course, but where's the sun?”

He turned around to look at the sky. It was broad daylight, but the sun had decided to come in to work pretty late.

“Looks like you're super early. Joaquín said eighteen hours. I still have one more left.”

With an eye roll, I shut the door in his face.

I called Locknell first. He yelled to Peru and back over my sloppy attitude toward work and how he was going to cut a few dollars from my paycheck. After he was done shouting, I told him I quit and hung up.

My movements were tired as I moved around the house, packing stuff up. Tears rolled off my nose ridge as I rummaged through my parents’ things. After they passed, I almost went insane. Hoarding their clothes, shoes, music, favorite cutlery and everything they had loved became an addiction and a slow poison. I couldn't move on because everywhere I turned, bits and pieces of their lives stared at me full in the face.

But after a while, when things became too difficult for me financially, I hosted a garage sale and sold half of all they owned. The profits helped me get back on my feet and save up enough to continue life again.

But I did preserve a few memorials. My savings jar was one. It belonged to my mother. She'd gotten it for herself toward the end of college and then gave it to me; there was also my dad's overpriced vinyl records, favorite baseball, necktie, wrist watch, mini vintage biplane, and crime novel. My mom's things were fewer and fit in one box; my dad's fit in two.

Mine fit in a single luggage. I sat in a corner and cried until my forehead burned.

Screw Milton! Screw the Irvings. They could cut up the house and make soup with it.

I stood up and took a final stroll around, watching my entire life play out before my eyes at every turn. I'd been so happy – so at peace with my parents – until it all took a pretty dark turn.

I washed my face a second time and walked outside to hail a cab, noticing Liv, who stood in shock at the sight of the demolishers with her mother by her side. They both came up to me when I came back.

“I'm so sorry, Rosy.” Liv said. Her eyes were misty. She hugged me tight.

Her mom, Jody, did likewise. “We had no idea it was this serious. You could've said something earlier, Rosy. It's a shame I can't do much now. Where will you go?”

I pocketed my hands and chewed on my bottom lip. “I don't know yet, but I'll figure something out real quick.”

“Of course you will.” Jody affirmed. She hugged me again and whispered. “You're Mary-Rosaline Philips. You're gonna make it.”

I'd lived next to Mrs Jody Mercer since before Olivia was born so of course she knew my full name. In fact, she was the only living person other than myself who did.