Written by Anastasia Kutselik of Richard Montgomery HS
The same old days, the same old story. James sat down at his white table, drinking his morning shot of espresso with the daily newspaper beside him. He flipped to the page with the crossword puzzle as he had done for the past 20 years after his wife’s death. Every day, he spent the next hours filling up the boxes in the crossword. But this day was different. In this crossword, there were several red boxes instead of the usual uniform grey. James wasn’t a man to catch details but the color red stood out to him like a black sheep. He skimmed down the crossword, piecing together the red boxes. In his mind they seemed to be forming a message, so he snatched a pad of paper and wrote out all the red letters:
64 Sneille AVE
James sat there, staring at the address. It wasn’t just some address, it was his old one, the home he had built himself. A house built from the heart, one that held memories with his first and only love. The memories flooded his brain, the death of his wife clouding over him. He remembered the day he started planning the house. Sarah had adored large windows. She had wanted a one level house so that when they both grew old, stairs wouldn’t be a problem. James, being blinded by love, was her Genie, fulfilling her every wish as a command. James sighed heavily, rubbing his temples, switching his mind back to reality. He continued to stare blankly at the crossword before taking it and shredding it into bits. The pad of paper still laid on his table, along with the pen.
He walked down the hall of his shabby apartment into his bedroom. A bed was the only furniture in it. James snatched out a bag, his worn out shoulder bag that was sewn by his wife. After her death, he didn’t care about himself. While many others would be frightened to find such a message, James decided to go visit the address. Nothing scared him as his biggest fear was met when his wife had died right in front of him. From then on, all he noticed was the color red, because she had worn something red everyday. A red dress during the summer and a red coat or boots during the colder seasons.
He walked out the door, down the piss-stenched stairs of the apartment building. He slid the keys into his grey Toyota Land, the car engine grumbling as he turned it on. He brushed his hand through his thin grey hair that was once a rich black color and set out to the address.
On his arrival, he noticed the house had become abandoned. No one had wanted to buy such a house that was built from scratch, as everyone who came to this town started to build new houses. It was still a small, brick and wood, one story home, with a red porch swing just as she had wanted. He walked up to that porch swing, his fingers brushing along the carved initials S.J. The S was for Sarah, the woman with the scarlet hair, the one who smiled and waved to everyone and anyone she saw. He took out his old keys for the house; he had crafted them himself with the help of an old friend, Marc. He opened the door and stepped in. Everything was the same as the night that he had left. As he went to visit the old bedroom, a clatter came from the kitchen. His neck snapped toward the sound and he followed it. There, he saw Jacob, his old partner in crime.
“What up, man?” questioned Jacob, helping himself to some beer.
The two greeted one another with the old firm handshake. Jacob took out another glass for James and poured him some too.
“Well, who knew that 20 years later, we would be meeting here again?” Jacob chuckled.
“I wouldn’t have come here if I knew it was you,” James answered coldly.
“Oh come on,” Jacob whined. “You should be happy to see me after I helped you. Only true friends would do something like this.”
James stayed silent, his mind drifting back to 20 years ago.
His wife had been sitting down on their brand new, olive green couch. He was cooking her favorite breakfast: eggs and bacon. Oh, how the smell of bacon had filled up the house each and every morning, but now it was only the smell of his coffee. Sarah loved dancing early in the morning to the tunes on the radio, while he preferred a quiet one. But he did anything for Sarah, even when he didn’t want to, so he danced with her every morning. She had him wrapped around her finger, or so she had thought. Sarah’s life had played out like the old saying: everything is too good to be true. It was one afternoon, when James came home and swung the door open. He chucked his shoulder bag onto the couch and stormed into the bedroom. His pills had run out. Prozac was the one thing that kept him human. James was only raised in anger and constant arguing. The face of his father, with his cruel black eyes and fiery red hair, was burned permanently into James’ mind. That was the face of the man who had shaped him into a heartless monster. At least until Sarah came along. That night when Sarah came home, she went to find James. He was chucking darts one by one with no hesitation. She called him but he didn't move a muscle. So she walked up to grab his attention and James, hypnotized by his anger, struck Sarah, mistaking her for his father. The last thing he remembered was that scarlet hair, and at that moment, he could not tell whether it belonged to Sarah or his father.
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