A Broken Road

A Broken Road- 4

After the jet landed in California, we were led into a black SUV. I guess Charlie hired some movers to move my stuff out of my house since I refused to go through all of it. I couldn't pack up all of my things and admit to myself that moving to California was permanent. The movers had packed up all of my stuff while I was at the funeral, so Charlie said that everything was already at his house. 

Once we got into the car, Charlie started driving and I realized how awkward this was going to be, neither of us knew what to say, so I leaned back and closed my eyes. Wishing that this day would come to an end. I mean, I just celebrated my mother's death. How is that okay? It's not. It's sick. And if my Cousin Timmy and his dad didn't practically drag me out of the house this morning, I wouldn't have gone.

Eventually, I fell asleep in the comfy seat for what seemed like hours but was only about ten minutes until Charlie woke me up. I sat up to see that we were parked in front of a cute middle class house. It was two stories with a large garage attached to the side. Classic white paneling with a light wooden front door. Very ordinary looking.

I hauled myself up the pathway behind Charlie and into the house. I could smell the ocean from here, so maybe we were close. I guess that was cool, I'd always liked the beach. The walls were a light brown color with a black leather couch and a big TV mounted on the wall. Through the living room, there was an unused dining room with an unused dining room table. I could tell that nobody used it because there was stuff piled on top of it, covering the surface from corner to corner. Manila folders, pens, loose papers, coats, books, and old dishes were splayed across the table.

Going through the dining room, that spilled into a kitchen that also looked helplessly abandoned. The cupboards were a boring wooden color with bronze knobs and the fridge was bare and a boring white. There were knockoff generic paintings scattered around the walls, but that was it when it came to decorating.

This house was the complete opposite of my house in Indiana. Our walls were covered in colorful paints and murals. Personalized murals. My name was sprawled out in the hallway and my mother's name was written along a wall in the living room. These walls were blank, emotionless. Our kitchen was clean and alive, Mom always cooked, she loved cooking. We rarely ever went out to a restaurant. Our counters were a red wood and none of the knobs matched. Our fridge was hidden under a layer of magnets and good grades with pictures of friends and family. This kitchen was generic and unused, with carry out menus laid out along the counter. Our dining room table was clear of anything, we ate at the table every night for dinner. We also had a huge chandelier that my mom found at a flea market a few years ago. The lighting in this dining room was flat, and it had no attention. Nobody lived in this room, only passed through it.

From what I can tell from the bottom level, this house was nothing but a house. Not a home, just a boring, monotonous house.

However, when I looked out one of the windows in the kitchen, I could see an amazing view of the beach that turned into the ocean. I could smell the ocean from out front, but I didn't realize that the house was right on the beach. I smile crept its way onto my face, my mom would love the view, even though she was more of a snowbird. I stared out the window for a while until Charlie's gruff voice interrupted me.

"Your room is the second door to the left, bathroom is across the hall," he said, causing me to look away from the window and turn towards him. "I figured you would like to decorate it yourself, so I didn't do much to it. Here's a card, it has $100,000 on it for whatever," he added quietly, I could hear the awkwardness in his voice as he reached into his wallet and pulled out a debit card, handing it to me.

"$100,000 dollars?" I gawked. "Like with five 0s?"

He just nodded. "If you need help moving things around, let me know."