You could see that perhaps
she had been a very beautiful youth, but the years had not been kind to her at
all. She was at least reasonably thin. Not overweight, but not winning any
skinny contests either. She wore a simple pink dress with green paisleys, with
a white knit shawl over it. She looked up from her hand on the door to me. I
was immediately sucked into her eyes. They were a vibrant hazel, with patched
of milky white here and there. It was like looking pictures of galaxies I had
seen in science books many years ago.
“Who’re you?” She asked
producing a gnarled cane from her side in a offensive pose.
“I’m Green, Sheldon Green.
Howard set up the sublet for this place for me. I believe you are Mrs.
Flemming?”
“Oh! Well come on in
deary. Yes, yes, I’m Mrs. Johanna Flemming.” The cane disappeared as quickly as
it had arrived. “Can’t be too careful nowadays. Neighborhood ain’t what it used
to be. Then again nothing is these days. Not even me. I wake up every morn with
the aches in my bones so bad, I don’t much mind getting out of bed. But that’s
age for you. And it’s been so hard since Jim passed these five years ago.” To
this she clutched a locket around her neck and gave it a little kiss. “He left
me alone and with all these properties to take car of. I ‘spose he left me
something to keep busy with. Mr. Green you say?”
“Well most people just
call me Green. No salutatories necessary for me.” To this she stopped and
turned to me. Her eyes narrowed, and she examined me from head to toe. It felt
like she was looking into my soul. Weighing each and every part of me. It was
an uncomfortable few moments. Finally she smiled and continued into the house.
“Don’t know much about no
salute-a-stories here. Nothing but good ole fashioned hospitality. If it’s
Green you say, then Green it is. I think you’ll like it here. Most people do.
It’s mostly quiet, and everyone generally keeps to themselves.”
I was barely listening to
her. I was astounded by the architecture of the home. Vaulted ceilings, they
had to be around sixteen feet high. Beautifully sculpted crown molding adorned
the painted tin ceiling. There was a slight musty smell in the house, as if it
had been lived in for a long time and barely ever got aired out. Hardwood
floors beneath my feet creaked with each step. Light slowly filtered through
the shuttered windows and dust slowly played in the beams of sunlight. In the
corner was a cozy old armchair, threadbare. You could see that many a great
story had been read in that chair. Next to it was a simple coffee table, the
current newspaper sitting atop it, pristinely folded. I followed her back into
the next room. This seemed to be the bedroom, there was a single bed with a
nightstand next to it. Not much else to speak of, no wall hangings or anything.
-V-
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