I'm Yours [Under Reconstruction]

Two

I'm Yours

Two

So it turns out that Nate inherited the place.

From who? I had asked as we sat down on the couch, Nate having brought out some cans of Pepsi.

"Madame Opal," Nate had answered. He then carried on explaining about how he came here after he got out of the system, looking for work. He had bumped into Opal in the streets, and after looking at his homeless attire, she had invited him to her home, where she lived alone after her husband died three years prior. They had hit it off instantly, and Nate worked for her since she had no one else and was well into her eighties.

After ten months of becoming close friends with Opal, she finally broke the news to him that she was dying, and that she had less that a month to live. What Opal hadn't told Nate, however, was that she put him in her will and since there was no one else, he got absolutely everything that she didn't donate to charity.

So here he was, three months later, receiving a call from me saying that I was sick of foster care. More than happy to oblige, he got the house ready for when I came.

"That reminds me," he said, finishing his Pepsi and getting up from the couch. He gestured to me to follow him and I did. I was led through yet another endless hallway until we reached an enormous maplewood staircase.

Woah.

We ascended it, and I lost count at around seventy-two. Just when I thought, it was over, we reached a landing, and we climbed up yet another set of stairs.

"Damn, Nate, how much more to go?" I asked. It wasn't because I was tired, but because I'd never seen so much stairs in my entire seventeen years of life.

"Only one more set," he called down to me.

When we finally got to the top, we face two corridors-one going directly in front, the other leading to the left. Nate took the one going straight ahead, and I followed. It was a short corridor, unlike the others I've been introduced to, and there were only three doors.

As Nate walked to the one on the far wall directly ahead, I opened the other too, out of sheer curiosity. The two were both on the left side of the emerald-painted walls, and I found out that one room was a tiny closet and the other was bathroom the size of a master bedroom.

The bathroom was nothing to ogle at, however, when I was introduced to my bedroom.

To say it had a lot of space would be an understatement. To say that I could hold a party in it if I wanted to would be more of an exact measurement.

It had creme-colored walls, to start it off, and the molding was of dark cherrywood. The hardwood floor was adorned in a maroon, fluffy carpet, which stretched across half of the room. There was an ivory-colored couch near, get this, my own bathroom, and as I explored further into my room, I saw that it had a bathtub fit for a very fat king. It had two sinks, as if that was necessary, and an enormous mirror that the world's vainest girl would find sufficient enough to apply her cake-face makeup.

You get the picture.

Now, for a man that appreciates sleep, I have to say that the bed was the best part. Not the foosball table centered in the middle of the room, not the plasma TV, and not the sweet, sweet mini-fridge. Okay, maybe the mini-fridge was tied.

But the bed was a huge, king-sized, four-poster that had me weak in the knees and diving into the fluffy comforter head-first. The mattress had me sinking down into beautiful heaven.

Suddenly, I was reminded that Nate was in the room with me as I heard him laughing.

"That was my same reaction," he said. "But wait till you see the view."