Song- "Photograph" Nickleback
Pulling up to the older home, I look around at the quiet but worn down neighborhood. This is my life for now, and I have to dive in head first before I lose my nerve.
Turning the engine off, I climb out of the truck and pull the luggage from the bed. I make my way up to the door and see three key locks. One saying Mr. J.F. Placing the key in the lock, I slowly open the door and wonder where the hell I'm supposed to go.
The door to the right suddenly flies open and I see this tiny old woman, holding a dog bigger than she is by the collar.
I involuntarily step back and her aged laugh makes me calm a bit.
"You must be my new tenant. Joel, right?"
Nodding, I hold out my hand and wait for her tiny, translucent hand to grasp mine in a surprisingly strong grip.
"I am, and you are?"
"Miss Agnes Sliven, Joel, but everyone calls me Momma A."
I chuckle until I feel a huge nose press against my crotch, nudging and sniffing. I jump back, and she laughs.
"That's just Roofer. Don't mind him. He's harmless once he smells and knows ya."
Still wary, my mind is almost flabbergasted at the fact that this little old lady, five feet on her toes, has a Great Dane twice her size by her side.
"Ummmmm... Okay. Can you show me which is my place, Agnes?"
She slaps her forehead, and mutters to herself as she's pushing Roofer into her door. Finally shutting it, she turns to me.
"I don't know where my mind is at. I apologize."
She shuffles up the tiny staircase, speaking rapidly as she goes.
"Rules. There are rules. No parties, no crazy women,” she coughs, “Or men, coming or going, no running up and down the stairs, and definitely no funny cooking."
She wrinkles her nose and continues. "I have a very sensitive sense of smell. I cannot abide by smelly cooking."
I take in the the "rules" and I'm pretty confident that none of them will bother me. She makes a big production of opening the door, and I follow her inside, my head swivelling, taking it all in.
It's perfect, a studio type attic apartment. There are no walls between anything, and I keep focusing on the bare brick walls. It's rustic and completely Boston style.
"Well? What do ya think, Mr. F?"
I take one final look around, and a smile settles on my lips.
"It's just what I need. What's included in the rent?"
She shuffles to the aged refrigerator and opens it, showing me a fully stocked fridge.
"This is your welcome to the house gift. From now on, it's on you. The guy who rented it paid for three months of rent, electricity, oil, and cable with wifi. So, after that, we will discuss."
She heads to the door, and turns back. "And if anything breaks? You gotta fix it, or pay for the repairs. I'm too old to worry about that shit."
Shaking my head as the door shuts, I place my luggage on the bed. This is it. My new resting spot. Not the estate, not the Fairmont, and not some swanky condo. A quiet, unassuming place where I can just figure it out.
After quickly unpacking my luggage, I head to the fridge, opening it, and smiling. Sam Adams beer! I've missed this.
Grabbing one of those and a pre-made deli sandwich, I head to the small table and just look around as I sip the beer. Step two... Complete.
---TBC---
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