Beautiful to Suffer

Part 1

I stood outside of my cousin's house, eyeing the shuttered windows and KEEP OUT signs. The two story home sat in shadow amongst the lightness of the neighborhood. The lawn was barren, of both green and wildlife. Even the birds seemed to go out of their way to avoid flying too close.

Mustering my courage, I climbed the front steps, and knocked. After a few moments passed and no response came, I knocked again. As my knuckles hit the door, it flew open, revealing a clearly unkempt and malnourished version of my cousin, Andrew.

He narrowed his eyes upon seeing me, and croaked, "Cam? What are you doing here?"

I smiled, as if I were genuinely happy to see him. "You remember how you said I should stop by if I were ever in Greenville?  Well, here I am!"

His cheek twitched in irritation. Yeah, I knew exactly how he felt. If his mother hadn't cried and begged me to come check up on him, I'd be in Vegas right now.

I pointed to the open doorway. "Can I come in?"

Andrew frowned, but moved back into the house so I could enter. The house was hard to maneuver without much light, and after stumbling the second time, I had to ask Andrew to turn on a light. He reluctantly switched on a lamp, illuminating what looked like storage for a Catholic garage sale. Winged figures made of porcelain, glass, stone, and wood covered every surface.

"I see you like my collection." I turned to find Andrew watching me. "No touching," he demanded.

"Wouldn't dream of it."

 

Andrew was nice enough to let me sleep in a spare bedroom that was thankfully free of any angelic ornaments. He agreed to let me stay the week, but I'd leave as soon as I got some idea about what happened to make him this way. The Andrew I remembered was a happy go lucky kind of guy, not this surly weirdo.

"Don't you have to go to work?" I asked him the next day. I was hoping to get some time alone so I could snoop, but it was already noon, and he was still in his sweat pants.

He looked at me long and hard, as if I'd asked something I shouldn't have. Maybe he’d been fired from his job.

"I work from home," he finally answered.

"That's cool. What do you do these days?" I asked, feigning interest.

"I sell religious icons by mail."

"Oh, that's what all those angels are for," I reasoned.

"No. Those are mine."

“I see. Well, since you're not working right now, why don't we go do something?" I couldn't stay in his house all day. The place gave me the creeps.

He gave me a flat look. "Just because I'm not working, doesn't mean I'm not busy," he responded coldly, then retreated to the basement.

When Andrew first showed me around his place, he pointed out the basement door, saying it was his darkroom, and that I should never go down there. Maybe I could help him install one of those red warning lights, so he could turn it on when he was dealing with the light sensitive negatives. Though I didn't see why he was still using film, when everyone else had gone digital.

Since Andrew was busy, and I was still very bored, I decided to go out by myself. Greenville was a small place; there had to be something within walking distance. I set out without telling him I was leaving, making sure the door was unlocked, so I could get back in without bothering him. The air outside was humid and heavy, but as I walked away from the house, the oppressive feeling seemed to lift. When I reached the sidewalk, I stopped and looked around. It struck me again just how different Andrew’s house was from those around it. His neighbors all had lush, green lawns that were obviously well cared for. The paint on the houses was bright, adding a cheerful quality to the area. And there sat Andrew’s house, a blight on the neighborhood.