Chapter One: Home Sweet Home
The door knocked. I can recognize that strong hand hitting my door two consecutive times any time. I put down the book I was reading and rushed to the door. The annoying sound the door made interrupted my voice calling his name; he wasn't tall, yet he was taller than me. The cheap motels' smell hit me in the face. I raised my glare to meet his eyes but he lowered his head. I knew something was wrong, not because of his eyes staring at his feet, but because he showed up. That was our agreement: whenever he felt like talking to somebody, sitting down and do nothing or eatting a home-cooked meal he would come to me.
"Come in, Dean" he raised his teary eyes to look at me. He didn't move. I opened the door wider to welcome him but he simply looked inside and didn't take a step forward. The weight on his shoulders was getting way too heavy, it seemed. I titled my head far from the door, checking the black spots beneath his eyes. Dean's head suddenly turned towards the sound of an opening door, it was Helga; my sixty-seven years old neighbour, she knows Dean from his visits to my house.
"Oh, Dean!" she said, her cracky voice sounded delighted, "it's been so long"
"Well, here I am" he flashed her a quick smile.
"Aren't you going to let him in, Mary?" she said to me, "it's cold out here. Tell me if you need anything."
"Thanks, Helga." I said, watching Dean walk right past me without looking at me. He stood in the middle of the path to the bathroom and hesitated.
"I need to take a shower" he said as I shut the door and walked toward him. "I smell like cheap motels."
"You have to stop using that perfum, then" I helped him take off his jacket, "get inside the shower and call me to take your clothes to get'em washed, okay?" he nodded. I was taking off the samulet when he caught my hand near his ear, I brushed his hair with my free hand. Dean held my hand closer to his mouth, I wasn't sure if he was kissing it or just breathing in the comfortable smell of the pie I was baking earlier. Everyday I would bake a pie and wait for him to come, if he didn't show up I would give the pie to a homeless person.
His head was held high as he walked into the bathroom and turned around to shut the door, he stopped only to look at me. He gave me his crooked smile and winked at me.
"We're going to have a long night" I said.
No sooner had he shut the bathroom door than I realized, It have been fifty-two given-to-the-poor pies since he came home. I took a sniff at his dirty jacket to remind myself that he was actually here, that I wasn't dreaming for the fifty-third night.
