8 Hearts, All In a Row
The bus drops Randy off next to an ice cream stand he used to buy neapolitan cones from in the summer. He 's surprised it still exists, now covered in a tarp, looking to survive the New York winter. 1818 Cheshire Street stands less than a block away, and he walks slowly, clutching his brown paper bag, trying to avoid slipping on the ice. When he was younger, a winter night meant sledding with the other kids in the neighborhood while lights light up the inside of brightly-painted houses. He, a stranger now, tiptoes through dead silence and boarded up windows, trying to see from the light of flickering streetlamps. No Christmas decorations hung, no wreaths guarded welcoming doors. He tried to remember the amazement that …show more content…
He tries to open it, but it 's stuck, and he has to throw his body onto the door in order for it to open. He steps into his childhood with arms crossed shut and small steps. When he opens his eyes, he 's seventeen. Everything is exactly the same, except so different. Bunk beds slammed against the front wall, two dressers violently tucked into corners piled with old school papers and trophies. On the wall old posters of NFL players hang at weird angles, and in blue bins lay tons of old comic books. On the other wall is a small TV, next to which rests a GameCube covered in dust. Everything is almost exactly the same, except on the fourth bare wall, where scrapes in the floor show where a third bed used to be, and tape residue on the wall marks where a little boy 's Batman posters used to hang. Randy leaves the room and slams the door shut, leaving almost as quickly as he entered. Downstairs, his father has not moved from his place on the couch, and is still reading the newspaper. He hears chatter in the kitchen, and recognizes his brother’s voice, loud and clear. “We brought a pie Mom, Lindsay made it …show more content…
She only wants to get to know all of you better.” “Hopefully she’ll figure out it’s time to leave you,” Randy didn’t look up from his phone. “Did you even tell her shit about our family? Does she even know-” “I know everything,” a small voice from the corner said. Lindsay was looking down at her lap. “John told me everything.” “Well then she’s too far gone, already embraced the crazy,” Randy stands up and makes his way toward the kitchen, “I think it’s time to go.” “Randy, no,” his mother protests, “You only just got here.” “And I’m already sick, so it’s time to go,” Randy kept moving. “You do this every damn time!” his father snapped, “Never able to handle anything-” Randy stops then and turns slowly around. “Me? I’m never able to handle anything? At least I don’t live a lie every damn day.” “What are you talking about-” “Eli.” The word hangs in the hair. Everybody knows, but no one says a thing. Finally, his mother dares to speak. “What about him.” “Where the hell is he? Millions of pictures in this room, he’s not in a single one. His bed isn’t even upstairs, did you get rid of everything that was his?” “We all cope in different ways, Randall,” his father
The bus drops Randy off next to an ice cream stand he used to buy neapolitan cones from in the summer. He 's surprised it still exists, now covered in a tarp, looking to survive the New York winter. 1818 Cheshire Street stands less than a block away, and he walks slowly, clutching his brown paper bag, trying to avoid slipping on the ice. When he was younger, a winter night meant sledding with the other kids in the neighborhood while lights light up the inside of brightly-painted houses. He, a stranger now, tiptoes through dead silence and boarded up windows, trying to see from the light of flickering streetlamps. No Christmas decorations hung, no wreaths guarded welcoming doors. He tried to remember the amazement that …show more content…
He tries to open it, but it 's stuck, and he has to throw his body onto the door in order for it to open. He steps into his childhood with arms crossed shut and small steps. When he opens his eyes, he 's seventeen. Everything is exactly the same, except so different. Bunk beds slammed against the front wall, two dressers violently tucked into corners piled with old school papers and trophies. On the wall old posters of NFL players hang at weird angles, and in blue bins lay tons of old comic books. On the other wall is a small TV, next to which rests a GameCube covered in dust. Everything is almost exactly the same, except on the fourth bare wall, where scrapes in the floor show where a third bed used to be, and tape residue on the wall marks where a little boy 's Batman posters used to hang. Randy leaves the room and slams the door shut, leaving almost as quickly as he entered. Downstairs, his father has not moved from his place on the couch, and is still reading the newspaper. He hears chatter in the kitchen, and recognizes his brother’s voice, loud and clear. “We brought a pie Mom, Lindsay made it …show more content…
She only wants to get to know all of you better.” “Hopefully she’ll figure out it’s time to leave you,” Randy didn’t look up from his phone. “Did you even tell her shit about our family? Does she even know-” “I know everything,” a small voice from the corner said. Lindsay was looking down at her lap. “John told me everything.” “Well then she’s too far gone, already embraced the crazy,” Randy stands up and makes his way toward the kitchen, “I think it’s time to go.” “Randy, no,” his mother protests, “You only just got here.” “And I’m already sick, so it’s time to go,” Randy kept moving. “You do this every damn time!” his father snapped, “Never able to handle anything-” Randy stops then and turns slowly around. “Me? I’m never able to handle anything? At least I don’t live a lie every damn day.” “What are you talking about-” “Eli.” The word hangs in the hair. Everybody knows, but no one says a thing. Finally, his mother dares to speak. “What about him.” “Where the hell is he? Millions of pictures in this room, he’s not in a single one. His bed isn’t even upstairs, did you get rid of everything that was his?” “We all cope in different ways, Randall,” his father