In Real Life

Chapter 1

I’m sorry. Two simple words that hold so much power. Two words that in the past few days I had grown accustomed to hearing, and loathing.

“Can you pop the trunk, Mrs. Baker?”

“Sure honey, just a second.” A moment later I heard the familiar unlatching sound of the trunk opening. I swung it open farther then reached in, grabbed my small duffle bag, and swung it over my shoulder.

“Man, I’m gunna miss you Tommy,” my best friend, Mike, said to me as I made my way to the front door of my new home. Mike and I had known each other forever, he and his mom were nice enough to drive me to my uncle’s place while my parents stayed behind dealing with insurance people. “Who am I gunna invite over at two in the morning to play flashlight tag and Halo?”

“Don’t worry Mike, I’ll come to visit, I promise,” I said, stepping onto the porch, “Plus, I shouldn’t be here too long. My parents will get the house rebuilt, and I’ll be back in no time!”

Mike gave me a sad look, then smiled a little and said, “Of course you will.”

I knocked on the door, something shuffled around inside, then a gruff voice yelled, “Just a minute!”

From behind, I could hear Mike’s mom walking towards us, “I’ve never been on a farm before,” she said looking around, “I’m sure you’re going to love it here Tommy. . . Did you knock?” she asked. Just then the door opened and out stepped this man that reminded me of a taller version of Hugh Jackman as Wolverine.He was wearing a plaid red flannel shirt, dirty jeans, and work boots. As I stood there holding my duffle, I couldn’t help but feel intimidated. He eyed my bag then looked down at me with piercing blue eyes that boar into my soul with such intensity that I became certain I would burst at any moment, I looked away. “You must be Tommy,” he said, “I’m your Uncle Nick. I’m sorry we had to meet under these circumstances, but I’m glad you’re here.”

“Nice to meet you too, Uncle Nick,” I said awkwardly. I gestured over to Mike and his mom, “This is Mike Baker and his mom, they drove me here.”Uncle Nick stuck out his hand to Mrs. Baker and said, “Thank you, Ma’am, I really appreciate you doing this for Tommy here.”

She shook his hand and replied, “It was no problem at all really. We love Tommy, and are going to miss having him around. It is so nice of you to take him in.”

“Yes, well, that’s what family is for.”

Mrs. Baker turned to me and gave me a hug, “Well, Tommy, I guess this is goodbye. We will miss you.”

Then Mike came over, we did our handshake and gave me a hug, “I’ll never forget you man. You were the best friend a guy could ask for.” He waved as he stepped off the front porch and followed his mom to the car. He closed the car door and they pulled out of the driveway.

I watched as they drove away, leaving nothing but red dust clouds and long forgotten memories of our friendship behind them. I looked around for a moment, not sure of what to do. The outside of the house was painted blue. Was, being the operative word here seeing as the paint was chipping badly, and could use a fresh coat. ‘God, he’ll probably make me do it’, I thought. On either side of the house were two large oak trees and next to the front porch was a flower garden filled with gardenias, white roses, daisies, and sunflowers. The front porch itself was small. The roof extended over it and was held up by wooden beams that were painted white, just like the boards of the porch, and to the left of the front door was wooden swing hanging from rusted chains.

I teared up a little, I didn’t want to be here. I just want to go home with my parents and pretend like none of this ever happened. No matter how hard I wanted it though, it wasn’t going to happen, but I couldn’t let my uncle see me like this…. Apparently, I didn’t do a very good job of covering it up though, as he then patted my shoulder awkwardly and said, “It’ll be alright Tommy, I know it doesn’t feel like that now, but I promise, it does get better.” There was a moment of odd silence, we both just stood there on the porch, watching the dust settle under a tangerine sunset. I took a deep breath and sighed, “So I guess this is home.” I said.

“Uh, yes. Of course, I’m sorry. Let’s get you settled in your new room,” he said. He opened the door. Inside there was a little table just to the right of the door. We stood in the entryway which contained stairs and also spread out into two hallways, one of which led to a large arched doorway that was open. From where I was standing I could just see the end of a couch and a stack of magazines, ‘Must be the living room,’ I thought.

My Uncle turned to me and said, “Come on, I’ll show you your room,” then led me up the stairs. They creaked with every step. At the top, there was a hallway with three doors. Uncle Nick pointed to the first one and said, “This one is my room, please knock before you come in.”

We continued down the hall to the last door, he opened it and gestured for me go inside. The room was descent sized, there was a queen-sized bed with an old patch-work quilt, the walls were covered in blue stripped wallpaper and old baseball posters, and there was a large cedar chest at the foot of the bed which was littered with baseball trophies and other awards. “This was your dad’s room, he would have wanted you to have it,” said Uncle Nick.

“Thanks,” I said dropping my bag on the floor.

“You pack light I see,” he observed.

“We weren’t able to salvage much from the fire, so Mike and his mom took me shopping before I came here,” I replied.

“Oh, I see. Sorry. I didn’t think about that,” he said.

“It’s alright,” I responded, wanting to change the subject, “So what is in that other room down the hall?”

“That room is nothing of your concern,” Uncle Nick responded in a more defensive tone than before, “It is kept locked, and don’t try to go in.”

“Oh,” I said quietly, “Yes sir.”

“Please, just call me Nick,” he said, “Well, you’ve had a long day, I’ll let you get unpacked. Dinner should be ready in an hour, I guess I’ll see you then.” He turned and walked back down the hallway and went down the stairs.

I turned from doorway and looked around the room again. ‘Home sweet home’, I thought.

It was a little after seven-thirty when I finished unpacking and made my way downstairs. I had to explore a little bit before successfully finding the kitchen. Nick was bent over, pulling a large pan out of the oven. “Smells good,” I said.

He cursed, dropping the pan on the counter.

“I’m so sorry!” I ran over and tried to help him clean up the small mess. “I didn’t mean to scare you!”

“It’s fine,” he grumbled, “I’m just not used to having people around.”

After cleaning up we ate dinner, or at least what was left of it. We sat across the table from each other in silence for a long time. I looked up from the oven warmed frozen lasagna that was on my plate and studied his face, looking for a clue, a sign, something, anything to tell me about this strange man whom I had had never met before today. I had so many questions. So many things I didn’t understand. I was a naïve twelve-year-old. I had known then what I know now, I never would have opened my mouth.

“So…,” I said awkwardly, trying to break the silence, “this is my grandparents’ house?”

He looked up from his meal. “Yes,” he said slowly, “didn’t your father ever tell you about this place?”

“No,” I answered, “In fact, he never even talked about them, or you. Did something happen between you and him?”

“All of that is ancient history,” he replied, “there is no need in digging up old bones.”

“So, what were they like?” I asked, “My grandparents, I mean.”

“They were like most other parents I suppose,” he said, trying to come up with a better answer, “Dad always wore these navy-blue coveralls that zipped up and a baseball cap. Anytime he wasn’t working out in the fields you’d see him sitting in his favorite recliner in the living room playing with his pocket knife or talking on the phone. That man sure loved to talk to people.” Nick laughed, he hadn’t thought about his father in years.

“What about grandma?”

“Well, your grandma, that’s a different animal entirely,” he laughed, “she was your typical house wife. Always cleaning, making lists, constantly in the kitchen cooking something amazing. She knew how to nag though, and she wasn’t afraid to speak her mind either. If she didn’t like the way you were doing something, she would tell you. You don’t see many women like that anymore.”

“So why doesn’t my dad talk about you or them?” I asked again.

“Look kid, there are just things that are better left unsaid and in the past. So, drop it!”

“No,” I shot back rhetorically, “I’m going to be living with you for a while whether either of us likes it or not, so I think I have the right to know why you and my dad don’t get along.”

Nick took a deep breath. “God you’re just like him, stubborn as a mule.” He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples. “Well I guess you have a point,” he said, getting up from his seat, “Follow me.”

I followed him from the kitchen down a gloomy hallway covered in old floral print wallpaper that I guess used to be brighter, but had since yellowed with time and was beginning to curl at the ends. There were several doors, all lining the left wall of the hallway, and at the end there was one door that stood alone. As we walked, I began to wonder what was behind all these doors, and what it must have been like for my dad to grow up here.

Finally, we reached the last door at the end of the hallway. Nick stopped, shoved his hand in his pocket and pulled out a key ring with several different keys. He searched through them for a moment until finding the one he wanted, then inserted the key into the doorknob and turned. It took him a few tries and lots of jiggling the doorknob, until at last we heard the latch click.

He turned the knob, the hinges creaked like in one of those old horror movies. It was dark inside the room, and I felt a cool damp chill brush over me as I entered. “Watch your step,” my uncle said, “I haven’t been down in this old basement in years.”

“I can tell,” I said under my breath.

When we reach the bottom of the stairs, I heard him fumbling around for the light. He pulled the string and clicked on the bulb. It was a bit smaller than I expected, and not as creepy either. There was an orange couch covering one wall, a bookshelf that was stacked to the brim with old records and high school yearbooks, and in the corner, was a record player.

“Woah,” I said reaching for one the records.

“Leave it,” said Nick in a stern voice. I eyed him annoyingly. “Look, do you want me to tell you what happened or not?” he said.

I sighed. “Yes,” I grumbled, plopping down on the couch. Uncle Nick went over to the bookshelf and proceeded to grab a yearbook, then took a seat beside me. He looked at the old dusty cover, wiped it off, and opened it up.

“It all started back in high school,” he began. . .