…idea of living in a house shoved into a block of sky-scrapers. A modest two-story affair, homey, gabled, with a short front lawn and a low wooden fence in front. In the midst of a bustling city street. She would watch from her bedroom window at the throngs that went about their day chasing that next paycheck, rushing from here to there, always busy, always running out of time. The stark contrast between them and her filled her with spiteful glee. She used to be one of them, always rushing, always worried about work, always stressing about time, always being abused by a system that was more than willing to chew her up and spit her out.
There he is, one of the many chewers in this city. The man who made her living arrangements possible. He would always try to avert his eyes as he walked past this house. As well he should. If he hadn’t shown her the particulars of the house’s placement he would have had it torn down and replaced with a restaurant. Her ex-boss was extremely upset when she took possession. He fired her on the spot, not like it mattered. She now had a protected home that the previous owner, a lovely old woman who would not give up her property, had left to whoever wanted it after she passed. All they had to do was say ‘I’ll take it.’ Cheryl had done that, at city hall, before her ex-boss could blink. Yes, he was quite upset about that.
There he goes, into the building where they had both worked. Shoulders high, walk stiff, chin up. Purposely avoiding looking at the house. The city gave her a stipend to maintain the house, which meant she didn’t have to work anymore. But she could watch those that did hustle and bustle, including him. She hated his dismissive ass so much. Seeing him every day headed for the office filled her with such joy, especially when he had late nights. Especially then.
Once he stopped to gaze at her while she was watering the flowers under the windows. She had looked up, and said ‘If you were me you’d be home tight now’. Then she laughed, heartily, never taking her gaze from him. He screwed up his face, to either scream at her or just shout some obscenity, but then walked away, hands clenched, squeezing the life out of his briefcase’s handle. That was a good day. And if that’s all she had to do for the rest of her time in this rathole of a city, she would do it. And enjoy it.
Arid Testimony 