RELOCATION
"VULTURES" Mrs. Baily called them.
We meet again as I retell a story written a while back. I'll soon start posting recently written ones, make sure to keep tabs with my posts. Thanks.
Today's story is short as you might expect. What are memories if not phases of the lives we lived? Follow the words as we relive a man's memory.
New places popped around town faster than a fever. The government has been planning it for years and when they started, there was no stopping.
“Where do we go if they take over the ranch?” I stood on the fence holding the wood as my father milked the cow. It was his daily ritual. He said it was what he did with my grandfather. He wanted me to do it too, but such plans may not come alive after all.
“Don’t worry about it, Isaac. We have been here since the first ship set shore in America. No body is taking our land from us.” He assured me in his own way. I could see the frailty in his body. He picked the bucket of milk and handed it to me.
“Are we meeting the lawyer?” I asked him.
“They haven’t come to us. We have nothing to worry about. Why don’t you give your mother the milk to boil it, and I’ll join you both. Have to rest for a bit.” He slowly settled to the ground while watching the plains.
I knew him to be brave, and never distressed. That was our last talk before my mom found him on the field. The doctor explained to me that his heart was taking more than it could handle and I assumed as a child that the human heart was like a machine that wears out.
It took two years after his death before the developers reached our ranch. We negotiated for months before my mom gave up on my father’s resolve. Things got hard and I understood her. She sold it for a fortune only to be taken away by uncles and aunts. “Vultures” that’s what Mrs. Baily called them and I could not have agreed more. We moved out of Krutch Valley after my fourteenth birthday.
Our new house had more rooms than the last one. Mom told me her great aunt left it behind for her because she had no heir. I grew to love the new town we moved to. The past I thought we escaped came knocking at our door with more deals than a bear, they were consistent with each offer better than the last. I kept a score of their names. They were eight in total. Our house had been marked before we arrived.
I grew strong while my mom aged. She passed away in her sleep. The funeral was attended by Mrs. Baily and some of her old friends she kept in contact with. They offered their condolences and gifts to me.
My mom had me studying law at a big-name university, and I went back to get a second degree in psychology before law school. It was messy but I figured it out. I came back to the house after finding no passion in carrier pursuits.
I am alone at the house. Some days seem longer than the previous. I read books, old ones. Adventures and unsuspecting journeys with each chapter. The books have been keeping me company. I never had cause to worry as my father taught me, and the money I had was enough to keep two generations of a family.
I came across a strange book in the basement after finishing the library. The cover had carvings on it of an owl. I turned to the pages:
Here are the writings that make you a traveler in the passing world.
The book started. I read it for hours and hours. My eyes seemed fixed on the words, each letter felt like something was being released from the pages into the real world.
I heard a knock on the door and walked to open it but the ground was flooding. I looked around to search for the source but the water kept increasing. The doorbell rang, and I reached for the knob but it got hot. I flinched, “I am coming.”
“I am from the World Builders & Co. Developers. My name is Patrick Murr.” The person said. I saw his shadow near the window, “Are you alright, sir?
“Yes, I am.” I responded. The water got to my waist in matter of seconds.
I felt a tug on my trouser and I got pulled under water. The water spiraled down to a glowing hole and it dragged me into it.
I woke up on a bed. The room was familiar. I heard my parents voice, giggling downstairs, and the sun beamed through a window. I got up to the sight of my room in our house on the ranch. It was surreal, my body felt lighter and my limbs smaller. I was in my eight-year-old body but still my old soul.
“Isaac! Is that you honey?” My mom called me.
“Yes!” My voice was tender again. The door opened and there he was. My father, better looking than I remembered. I ran and gave him the tightest embrace.
“I miss you, Dad.” My eyes were closed, and I sniffed his favorite jacket.
“You okay, Isaac?” He held my shoulder and smiled.
“I don’t want you to go.”
He laughed, “I’m not going anywhere.”
The old house brought back memories I thought were lost. I came downstairs and there she was, my mom. She was brighter than ever. I gave her a hug and we talked for hours. Night came after a day of playing, eating and laughing. It was eternal for every moment I lived it. I didn’t want to sleep, but it was natural. Sleep came, but I prayed before bed that the next day would be there at the ranch house.
I woke up in my house. Old again. Lying down on the bed for hours reliving the buried memories of my father. Soon, I returned back to my routine, of reading books. They kept my mind off the ‘translation’ as I termed my experience. But, I had it in me that I forgot something important that took me to the ranch house at Krutch Valley. It was a book as I can recall, but I never found it again.
The following days, Patrick Murr and other realtors kept coming to the front door but I kept turning them down. Patrick was persistent, and I gave in to one of his offers. The house was off my hands. I packed my bags into a van for relocation.
I set out to the countryside in hopes of finding a field to buy and build my own ranch.
END
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