CHAPTER 47 Wandering Strangers

3 0 0

copyright 2015 Chris Smith All rights reserved.

It was evening eye routine time. I got my eye washcloth, and put it in a bowl that had some warm water in it. Then I put it into the micro until it was the right temperature.

I noticed a couple down at the A-Frame. Next thing I knew there was a knock at my door.

"Hello?" said an unknown female voice from outside my front door as she knocked insistently.

"Hello? Is there anyone home?" She asked again with several more knocks.

I had no desire in dealing with prospective buyers for our Farm. I wasn't interested in answering any of their questions. As far as I was concerned it was rude of them to assume I would be and to infringe on my privacy by invading my space, especially this late in the evening and with an eye infection.

This wasn't some friendly suburban neighborhood where you just walked up to people's homes and knocked on doors. This was the rural countryside. The people who lived in the mountains, did so to avoid most everyone else. They didn't live away from civilization so they could be harassed by interlopers and their fucking questions.

"I guess there's no one home," the woman said to her male companion.

When I looked out my bathroom window, I heard them at the Glass House on Parcel B.

"Hello?" the woman called into the yard.

"Yes," I heard my Mom answer.

Then I heard Mom's distinctive laugher. I decided she might need some back up so I called the Glass House.

"Yes," my Dad answered.

"Just wanted to let you know Mom's outside talking to some people who were wandering around. She might need some back-up."

"Where?"

"Right outside your house, in front of the porch," I told him.

"Okay, I'll go outside and make sure she's okay."

I went back into my bathroom window and watched. I heard my Dad's voice. He was answering more questions about our Farm to yet another prospective buyer. I marveled at his ability to do this, without a hint of anger. I didn't have it in me. But this was my Dad. Right down to very brink of the edge, he could be friendly.

"Do you know the previous owners?" they asked him.

"Why yes, we do. We know them quite well," my Dad said.

"Really?"

"Yes. We're the previous owners."

Recognition of shock filled their faces. My Dad proceeded to explain to them that Parcel A, the A-Frame, had been foreclosed on, and this parcel, Parcel B where they were standing in front the Glass House, was about to be Foreclosed on as well. He also told them it was our intention to buy it all back.

The woman told my Parents a story of her friend who was a teacher. Her friend had done the same thing we wanted to do. She had been foreclosed on and was able to buy it back from the Bank.

"Well, unfortunately you don't hear a lot of those stories," said my Dad.

"No, no you don't," replied the couple.

The couple wanted to know some basics of the property, and water. The boundary lines were a biggie for everyone. Most of the people that came up had no clue where the boundaries where. Hell the real estate agents didn't know.

I wanted them all to go away. I wanted to close my eyes, make a wish, and have all our problems fixed. And if I couldn't, then I wanted to make myself go away.

My Parents stood there, polite and calm, even charming at times. My Dad answered away. I thought it was rude of people to badger my Parents with their questions.

They just showed up, knocking on our doors, at any hour, operating under the assumption that we're sitting there in our homes waiting for them. So we can be Johnny-on-the-spot and represent for them. It felt like we were on call 24/7.

Maybe they expected a personal guided tour of the property, pointing out each and every boundary line?

Maybe we were busy.

Like, I don't know, trying not to jump off a fucking cliff?

Maybe we were busy trying to hold on to some measure of sanity?

I should write a letter and tape it to my front door.

"Dear Prospective Buyers and/or Real Estate Agents,

Sorry I couldn't be here for you.

I'm quite busy at the moment. I'm trying to decide between pills or hanging as a way to rid my failed self from the earth.

Have a great day!

Sincerely,

me

p.s. GO FUCK YOURSELF."

They didn't care.

Why should they?

It's not like it was their home, right?

They were all selfish and so self-absorbed it was all beyond my comprehension. People needed a course to refresh their manners and decency. Seriously.

I bet if we had turned the tables, showed up at their home unannounced, knocked on their door at all hours, walking around their property unchecked, badgering them with questions they wouldn't like it one bit. I would love to see these people chum some of this shit for a few days and see how they feel about it.

When you go and see a property for sale, have some sensitivity and respect. The neighbors you may be badgering with your questions [basically because you probably came to the property unprepared and expect everyone else to fill in the details for you] might be the previous owners. They also might not want to answer your questions. They might be busy with, oh with their own lives. Or they may simply want nothing to do with you. And, oh by the way, the areas you're driving around on, may be private property too.

I had dinner again with my Parents.

"Any ideas on if we should pack yet or if we're leaving?" I asked my Dad.

"No. All I get [from meditating] is we're not supposed to worry about it."

"Okay. Well, I just don't want to have to an hour to pack and have to rush around trying to get everything."

We were walking into darkness. We had very little light, from which to see the path ahead. There were no road maps, or trails to show us the way to our Dreams, and out of the stress. We walked blindly in faith. Clinging to all we had in hope and in love that we would make it through somehow and still be standing at the end of it all.


"If you're going through Hell, keep going."

Author Unknown


A TASTE OF DESTRUCTION Book 1 (EDITING) is the juice worth the squeeze seriesRead this story for FREE!