𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙲𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚘𝚏 𝚊 𝙻𝚒𝚏𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 ✓ (𝟷𝟾+)

The reclamation

Arin

Brooklyn. The place where mom spent her time with me when I was a kid. Dad has told me about her time in The States before we landed.

"This is the place," he pointed towards a dilapidated building. Cracks appeared from top to the bottom of a grey looking, paint scrapped building. The sunlight was behind the towers, casting a shadow over it. It seemed gloomier, sadder with the recent developments in my life.

Dad moved ahead, stood on the first of the many stairs that danced at the entrance before curving around the corner. He turned and lend me his hand. I looked up at the building again. Hardly four-storied.

"How did you know she stayed here?" I asked.

He gestured at me again to take his hand, fingers happily flapping up and down. I held his hand, trailing behind.

"After Florence came back to London, we talked for a couple of times. She told me about this place."

His words reminded me of London. Of Roger. Of my heartbreak.

I was doomed to love a man who wouldn't love me back. Unrequited love was the most painful and I was cursed to carry it in my heart. With thoughts of the contract with Roger lingering in my mind, dad's words broke their impact.

"This is the room," he beamed.

We stood in front of a rundown scarlet door. The knob was the only thing that looked from the Victorian era and held up as opposed to the otherwise crumbly door. Not only did the paint chipped off, but the wood itself was also peeling off from its ribs.

I looked around, two rooms per floor and a stairway for passage. How on earth did mom manage to survive here? How do I not have any recollection of it?

Dad ran a hand inside his coat and the silence was broken with a muffled chime with a bunch of keys huddled together.

"How do you have them?" I enquired.

He didn't bother replying. He opened the door and walking inside. The dust had settled over everything in the place. Not that there was any furniture but whatever existed was covered in transparent plastic, now opaque with a thick layer of grainy dirt over it.

With every footstep we placed over the creaking wooden board, dust in the shape of mushroom clouds escaped from each crevice. I stayed still, trying to not move much. Dad continued his journey, walking ahead and creaking the entire apartment back to life.

He vanished behind the kitchen area. I watched the peeled paint and the musty chlorine smell which irritated my nose and throat. The open veranda was spectacularly blanketed with gray and black soot. Some factor must be nearby.

I walked over, sliding the glass separator. Setting sunlight strained my eyes while I stood outside. Dad's voice traveled from his place of being.

"What do you think?"

I looked around before answering. "Think of what, dad?"

He gestured to the entire apartment. "Investment opportunity!"

I had my mouth open wide. He wasn't making any sense. Well, not that I was. I called him from Roger's place, only telling him that I wanted to leave London. All his questions about why I was taking such a hasty decision went unanswered. It was only a matter of time that he would play the same card back with me.

"We can't invest in this place, dad. This place is, for the lack of a better word- dingy" I rolled my eyes when I said it. Dad laughter at me. He walked over to my side, balancing over the metal railing. The nuts and bolts creaked upon his weight. "I wouldn't lean on that if were you."