Week 11: Visitation

 

            Growing up in a place that was usually referred to as the “slums”, the only thing Michael ever wanted was to have a home all to himself. Yes, a two-story home with a long winding driveway, and an ample backyard with enough space for oneself to breath in. Sure, where Michael had ended up wasn’t exactly his childhood dream, but it was close enough.

            The small town of Maplebrook stood on the outskirts of New Brighton, a city which had deteriorated considerably over the years. The residents of New Brighton were just itching to get out. Maplebrook, with its small-town charm, and ample farmland just waiting to be developed. And so, Michael had finally found his escape. Everything was perfect, everything had checked out with the bank, and Michael had just signed the mortgage for his slightly less than perfect dream home.

            Just like any suburban neighborhood, Oak Shores was full of houses that looked exactly the same. Michael tried to not think too deeply about that fact as he drove down the various looping streets, trying to find the home that he had just signed onto. Where the hell could this be!?! Michael’s thoughts infested his brain, comparing the prim and proper houses to the dilapidated apartment buildings he had escaped from.

            808 Oak Shore Ln. Michael had finally arrived. The movers would be there any second, he imagined. Yes, Michael had moved up enough in life where he could afford to pay other people to move for him! Everything was going to plan. The air outside was crisp and fresh, free of any smog from the city. The grass was green and glimmering with dewdrops from the night before. Everything in this ordinary neighborhood was what Michael had dreamed of. He was so lost in his thoughts; he didn’t notice there was a shadow lurking behind him.

            “Excuse me,” a gruff deep voice interrupted Michael’s frivolous daydream. Michael turned around so sharply, he found himself tripping clumsily over his leather freshly polished loafers.

            “E-excuse me?” Michael repeated like a parrot. He took in the owner of that gruff voice with a sharp analytical eye. The man that stood in front of him did not look like he belonged in the fairytale suburban dream that was Oak Shores. His clothing was tattered, his hands looked like they were permanently stained with oil, and his face, cracked and red, had clearly seen better days.

            “Oh no, I hope I didn’t scare you!” The man’s tone seemed apologetic…almost too apologetic.

            “No, no, you’re fine…” Michael took a step or two back, the suburbs had already riddled his mind, he didn’t want to catch any disease that this mystery man might be carrying.

            The stranger smiled, his lips curled up tight.

            “I’m just here because I heard you’re new to the neighborhood. The name’s Vincent, I’m a landscaper.”

            Michael narrowed his eyes suspiciously. That would explain why the man looked like he had been burned a thousand times over by the sun. That kind of tan just doesn’t happen naturally. Michael sighed, he had not planned on being sold anything today, and most surely not from someone who looked like they had been completely fried by the sun.

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