Arriving

Jerry sometimes writes things--just for fun. Like an exercise. This is one he worked on this week...maybe you, internets, would like to read and let him know what you think?



Much less notice is drawn to arrivals than departures. Arriving at this house—287th Wally Place—while not common, marked nothing more than another boy counting the days to leaving. The arrival of this particular boy met with the unspoken expectancies of tradition accrued from years beyond the memory of even the oldest occupant. He stood in the entry—small. The vaulted ceiling lent no stature to his scarce four and a half feet, rather only serving to daunt him into an impression of apologetic notice, as if he were somehow sorry for his very presence and would be more comfortable elsewhere, anywhere else. Blond hair under the dingy twilight and greasy glow of the gas lamps, lacking the sun of home, adopted a sandy tarnish, and the nervous perspiration on his forehead matted his hair down in his eyes, making it easy for him to shift his gaze to the floor and pretend he was not standing before the severely stern man threatening above him, or the all too eager woman behind him. He clutched his bag tight in hand.


“What’s your name then?” asked the man.


“It’s Simon—” interrupted the woman before the boy could speak. “He’s a shy thing, but you won’t have any trouble with him. I can promise you that. Never a cross word or a complaint—you wouldn’t even know he just lost both his parents. He’s adjusting very well. I’m sure he’ll fit right in with the rest of the boys here, and you won’t have any trouble with him, any trouble at all,” she rattled on, her speech accelerating as she progressed as if to lend her credence.


“Yes, thank you Ms. Price. You’ve made it quite clear he won’t be any trouble—I did read your letter after all, it was most informative on this point,” said the man. “But if I am expected to take in the boy, I would like to speak with him myself if you don’t mind.”


“Yes of course, begging your pardon Mr. Bander.” Her face flushed with embarrassment, assuming a red characteristic of too much heat, perhaps even fever, at extreme odds with her already red hair. “I meant no disrespect, I only just want to make sure you are will take him off my—I mean, take him in. I can’t be expected to provide for him. I only knew his parents at a—” again she rattled on, but was cut short by Mr. Bander.


“Please Ms. Price. Don’t get ahead of yourself; no one is suggesting you keep the boy.” He appraised her pretentious dress verging on the edge of modesty with obvious distaste. “You are clearly not a suitable option.” With finality, he directed his attention to Simon. “How old are you boy?”


“Eleven,” Simon managed, without raising his eyes from the floor.


“Have you ever been to school?”


“No.”


“Well, if you stay here you will be expected to apply yourself to scholastic studies. We don’t tolerate any measure of lethargy. Do you understand?”


“Yes.”


“Yes sir,” whispered in Ms. Price.


“Yes sir,” said Simon.


“Very well.” Turning back to Ms. Price, Mr. Bander continued, “That will be all Ms. Price, our institution will assume responsibility for the boy now. You may rest assured that we will do all in our power to curb the influence of his parents, and your profession, and equip him with knowledge of respectable society.” At this Ms. Price bristled, but was far to invested to let her temper best her judgment.


“Well I thank you Mr. Bander. If that will be all you need, I’ll be leaving then.” She turned on her heel, and with a flourished swing of the door was gone. The echo rang and the air was silent.

Mr. Bander released a pent up sigh, as if to more completely expel the unwanted presence of Ms Price. Without a word, he turned to ascend the nearby stairs. Simon stood awkward, waiting.


“Well come on then boy,” said Mr. Bander, removing a pocket watch from his vest and holding it to the light. “It’s getting late. I’ll show you to your bed. Have you had dinner?”


“I’m not hungry,” said Simon.


“Why? What’s the matter then?”


“I want to go home,” said Simon.


“Home? You’ve only just arrived. You don’t have a home.”