I owed it to him, I suppose. He was my best friend, after all, and he had always been there for me when I was in trouble. Six months ago, Mike’s uncle had died after a year or so of illness. Mike took the news hard; the man had been like a father to him. It had taken him those six months to build up the courage to head round to his uncles old place in the country, and get his affairs sorted out.
I say place, because you couldn’t really call it a house. It was a big old building from the war, just a concrete cuboid sitting on long rotten foundations. Back during the good old days, and by that I mean the 80’s, it had been a youth center. Run by Mike’s uncle, it provided support for vulnerable children and teenagers. The funds dried up during the 90’s, and the old man had to close the place down. It broke his heart, I guess. He lived on the site, in a self imposed sentence of isolation, right up to the winter before last when he fell ill, and was taken to a hospital. I guess the pills; the stress; and the heartbreak of being away from his site were to much for him, and he just let go.
We arrived at the property, which sat rotting in a fenced compound on the edge of the village, at two in the afternoon. The bright white sign that once proclaimed the title of ‘Black-brook youth center’ lay in the bushes by the entrance, consumed by ugly streaks of lichen and mold. As Mike pulled open the rusted gate, the clouds broke, unleashing of torrent of cold rainwater through the blustery skies towards us. We sprinted for cover, in the form of the grey wooden porta-cabin that sat at the side of the property, about two hundred meters from the shell of the main building.
When we were inside, and had shook of the rain hanging to a coats, Mike spoke for the first time since we arrived.
“Well, we made it” He half laughed, rubbing his hands against the large metal filing cabinet that was the only piece of furniture left in the room.
I nodded casually, and pushed my hand against the dirty plastic of the light switch. Unsurprisingly, I got no response from the lonely bulb that hung on the roof.
“Power’s out” I commented to Mike, with a note of annoyance in my voice.
“The fuse box is in the basement of the main building.” He nodded, still eying the room with some disgust.
The floor was an aging lino mat, checkered black and white, but with patches of grey, and seriously curled edges. It was coated with a generations worth of dead leaves, muddy footprints, and old discarded papers. Apprehensively, I wiped down the dust from the only window that faced the main building, to get my first good of the old place.
Through the rain, I caught a good glimpse of the distinctive red bricked walls. They stood, as I remembered, facing north against the rain. I wasn’t sure if what I saw was real, or just a fractured memory.
A young boy is running across the lawn of the property, I am chasing him, my childhood self again. The red brick walls watch over us, a constant feature in the corner of my eye. The boy is laughing, and I want for all the world to join him, to laugh and play in the sun all day long. For a little while I continue running after him, but I soon slow to a stumble, and finally a halt. I just stand stock still in the middle of the lawn.
“Do you want to head inside then?” Mike’s gravelly voice broke my thoughts.
“Yeah, I guess so” My voice felt funny in my throat, almost as if it wasn’t my own. I laughed it off, thinking it was probably the dust and mold in this place.
We again sprinted across the soaked grass, splashing through the ever growing puddles towards to building. The front main entrance was boarded up, so we had to head round the back, into the porch of the side annexe. By the time Mike had slid his key into the rusty padlock, turned it, pulled off the chain, and ushered open the heavy metal door, we were both we through. Laughing, the two of us pushed into the kitchen, the overwhelming silence muting our almost nervous banter.
