The Room Below (Complete)

The Room Below Part One

It wasn’t the first Time Petunia had arrived at her new home. A long driveway stretching through a placid scenery of green against the light hues of day break. The freshness of the air almost evident in the landscape. It was morning and she was as eager as ever to finally meet her new parents. Most of the other orphans were picked up by their parents to be, but Petunia found no reason to complain, nor should she.

Petunia scanned the fleeting surroundings through the tinted glass of the back seat of the car. Signs of civilization: other cars, road and business signs, and buildings seemed to disappear altogether. Another similarly tinted glass window was positioned between her and the driver of the vehicle—this of course puzzled Petunia greatly. No matter the duration or persistence of the knocking, the window never rolled down (other than the first time when the driver quickly rolled it up once he had realized there was no dire emergency occurring in the back that needed his attention, just a talkative little girl filled to the brim with joyous excitement).

Petunia was a curious child. Sharper than a tack she was, and she wasn’t in the slightest bit ashamed to show it. She craved conversation almost as much as she craved Sister Oren’s triple berry pie—a sacrificed pleasantry that Petunia had already come to terms with when she left the orphanage.

Just as the sun was finishing its glorious rise into the brush-stroked blue of the sky, a lone mailbox flashed in and out of existence just outside her window. The word Porter hung predominately below the box in large metal lettering—gently swaying in the midmorning breeze. Petunia sat upright in her seat, pressed her face against the window and peered into the expansive world passing through her field of view.

Off in the near distance, was a lake. Specks of glinting sunlight danced on the surface of the water—as if they were being directed in unison by a beautiful melodic tune. Ripples of water rode the currents of the wind to the shores of the lake and Petunia thought there would be no better thing in the whole entire world than to take a dip in the waters.

The car began to turn, making petunia’s face smash up against the window all the more. Peeling her face from the glass, she rubbed her nose in a circular motion, hoping that she had not just broken her nose. The last thing she wanted was to show up on her new parent’s doorstep broken—or defective.

Leaning forward in her seat, she peered into the tinted glass that separated her from the driver. Tilting her head this way and that, she observed the angles of her face in proportion to her nose within the reflection. Things seemed to be in their right place, shape and size. She let out a sigh of relief as she plopped back down into her seat. Petunia straightened the skirt of her dress out with her hands, making sure to pat out all the unwarranted creases and ruffles. Her feet anxiously dangled over the edge of the seat in anticipation. A lightness swelled inside of her stomach. She swallowed hard.

The car lurched to a stop just as a towering two story house came into view, blotting out the sun’s rays—casting a dark, creeping shadow into the cab of the car. The engine of the car spatters briefly before shutting down. The driver’s side door opens, then shuts. A Click-Thump comes from behind where Petunia is sitting. The driver walks by her door without even sparing a passing glance. Moments after, he returns with her luggage and bags.

He opens the door for her and she promptly scoots her way off the seat and plops down, creating a small cloud of dust rising up and around her feet. Worried for a moment that the man might become angry with her for dirtying up her new shoes, an apologetic smile forms on her face as she looks up at the man. Dark sunglasses veil his eyes and a firm, sturdy cap holds his hair in place. No reaction.

Petunia follows the man up a cobblestone walkway. She watched as the suitcase dragged on the ground tipping from side to side as it forged its path through the cobblestone—the mini tires of the case only connecting with the ground once every few steps. The jumbling of the suitcase as it bounced and swayed, gave it almost a lifelike characteristic. Personified through its movements, Petunia couldn’t help but giggle at its uncoordinated jitter.

Each step closer to the house allowed its enormous size to be truly revealed. From afar Petunia could see how someone might mistake this for a normal sized house, but not up close like this. The front door itself looked as if it was meant for a giant to easily walk through without even stooping down at all. A large brass ring hung about a quarter of the way up the door, gripped in the fanged mouth of what looked like a lion—only, lions are usually pretty creatures to Petunia, and this lion seemed unlike other lions that she had seen. Its face frozen in place, forever, as what can only be described as a snarl. Anger displayed in its marble eyes. Petunia took pity on the inanimate object—as she was prone to do on occasion. Maybe it’s mad because of all the people who pull on the ring in its mouth, she thought to herself.

An echoing pound rang from the door each time the man swung the ring into it. Silence. The man again raised the ring, slamming it into the door—this time with a little more force. Petunia cringed with each swing of the ring. Silence fell within the house. The man raised his hand to knock on the door a third time but before he could grip the ring in his hands Petunia’s fist was knocking against the solid wood of the door. Ta-Ta-Ta. Only a quiet, short reverberation followed. Then silence. Disappointed in the resulting sound—not to mention how it hurt her hand, Petunia was all the more willing to allow the man to continue his work.

A couple more attempts, and the door finally sprung to life. The hinges cried out in a squeaky, whiney voice and the door itself seemed to groan under the girth of its own weight. Behind the door stood a woman. Mom, Petunia immediately thought.

“Oh my,” The woman exclaimed, “you must be Petunia.” Her face is oddly shaped, much like a pear. Petunia, however, was never one to judge by appearance and she wasn’t about to start now. She saw beauty in this woman, pure and simple.

“Yes Mo—ma’am.” Petunia’s cheeks flushed with a rosy red. She let her gaze fall to the floor.

“Thank you Geoffrey. I’ll take it from here.” Her voice soothed and calmed Petunia. Without a word, the man spun around in place and headed back out towards the car.

The woman knelt down in front of Petunia and gently slid her finger under Petunias chin. The woman raised Petunia’s head so that they were now looking into each other’s eyes.

“Sweetheart, you can call me Rosetta.” A smile as bright as the sun formed on Rosetta’s face.

“Are you not my. . .”

“I’m afraid not.” Rosetta’s smile faded. “Mrs. Porter is. . . is  no longer with us, my dear.” 

Sadness gripped Petunia. Choking her up for a moment; she let the hard fact that she was never going to know a mother of her own, sink its way into the depths of her mind.

 “What’s all the bother Ros—,” A man’s voice filled the entryway with a booming tenacity. A voice that fit the person who entered behind it. A large man with a plump frame enters the room.

Rosetta quickly rose to her feet and spun around.

“Mr. Porter, this is—,”

“Petunia, right . . . right, right, right.” His voice seemed to have lowered a notch or two in volume and a subtle calmness trilled in his voice. “I must apologize for my rudeness child. I’m Franklin Porter.” He reaches his hand out to shake Petunia’s hand. She hesitated, expecting a different kind of welcome. She extended her little hand and Mr. Porter wrapped his swollen fingers around her hand and began to shake it, nearly lifting Petunia right out of her shoes.

“Petunia, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you. I’m your new father.”

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