You Moved In

Jehovah

Not a Spanish title for the chapter today! I can already hear the tears of joy run down your face lol.

Enjoy!

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After therapy, I drive in the woods and near Congamond lake. I take a dirt path that would put a city kids into a coma. The trees become thicker and the sound on the town becomes more and more distant. Only some people know these paths as well as people who know Vovó

Vovó (Portuguese for grandma) is a 67 year old Portuguese woman who lives on the edge of town and owns all of the land. In fact, they had to buy a small portion of it to put a telephone tower. She owns golf carts that you can take through the forest and on the dirt and gravel paths. She sits every day on her porch and knits while watches cars pass on the main road. She wears a mantilla and would have probably been a nun if she was unmarried. She's always cursing words I don't understand when people mess with her. She may have lived almost a century but the way she lives she's probably gonna be living until she's 130 years old. There has been many times I've walked around town for fun and she's always stop me and ask if I'd eaten anything and even if I did she'd feed me some kind of soup. Her accent was thick and she never used conjunctions in sentences. It was always "Mas" "E" and "Então".

Past her house and deep into her land was another old house that no one knew about. Jehovah's house. He's around my father's age and he already has a track record for being a drunk, killing a man with a switch blade, and being caught in the possession of grass. Vovó loves him more than anyone else on this planet other than Jesus and her late husband. Story is she kept bailing him out that one day she gave him a house in the woods so he can proceed with his activities there. His name Jehovah has a few possible reasons on why he was named it. The most likely was because he was such a hard baby to get out, his mom kept yelling that and they doctors wrote that on the birth certificate, which is funny because she's Lutheran.

Jehovah was the person who listen. Or maybe because he was always high on angel dust or something. He got the job done and was always in the mood for a fight and he never backed down with one. He doesn't feel emotions like others and but he has a different way of showing his respect for others like going to bat for them, beating up their enemies and stuff like that.

I finally get past the muddy roads and stop at his house. The old has two floors and even though it looks dirty on the outside, vovó is always coming by to make sure it's clean. It's small but it's still a home.

I exit my vehicle and step on the stairs that lead to the porch of the house. I knock on the door. No response. I knock a little louder and for a little longer. No response yet again. I try to again in and the door opens.

"Alright, Jehovah! I'm coming in!" I yell and I hear a thud and a groan.

"What the hell!" I hear him curse.

I look into the living room and see that he fell off the couch. The man that stands before me is around 5"9 and has a saggy beard and a grinch-like laugh and eyes that say he's been through a lot in his lifetime. He's nothing noteworthy.

"Wha' da hell is wrong' with yo' ass" he slurs his speech and goes back onto the couch, "scared me shitless, Callie!"

"Sorry," I apologize and chuckle.

"What do you want this early in the morning?" He asks.

"It's the afternoon," I correct him. He must have had a hangover and slept this late.

"Oh, must of got buzzed again you know me," he lies with a chuckle, "silly me!" Dammit! So close!"

"Discussing habit," I say.