Uncle Bob
Robert stood looking at the house as the gray clouds rolled above the roof. The house had been left to the elements for many years. It made Robert’s depression deepen, but at least there was no one living here to interfere with his purpose. He pulled the whiskey bottle up to his lips, and took another swig. The liquor went down hard, but he was getting used to it. So many years of abusing his throat had numbed it.
The wind rustled through his hair and blew his raggedy coat back. The buttons of the coat had long ago fallen off, and he hadn’t the money or the inclination to fix it. He thought of the long bus ride that took him here, how he spent every cent he had on the ticket. Except of course for the $ 7.95 he spent on this cheap whiskey. He had been thirty six cents short, but the clerk was nice enough to spot him the extra.
Robert looked up at the right window on the second floor. His old room. One of the shudders must have fallen off some time ago, and the other was barely hanging on. He thought back to his childhood when everything seemed fresh and good. His mother was the only relative he knew back then, and she was his world. He was only six years old when she died.
He walked up the steps to the porch. The front door was open. No, the front door was lying inside the house. He walked over the door into the foyer. This used to be a homey place, but now it looked like a good place for old raccoons to die. Especially the one laying in the middle of the floor. Its eyes were either sunken in, or they were eaten away by some small animals unknown. Robert walked past the dead animal, and started up the stairs. Looking around on the third stoop, he saw a beam that would work just fine for his purposes. He took off his belt, and swung it around the beam. He pulled hard, to make sure the beam would hold his weight. It did. He had tried this many times before, back at the orphanage and into his adult life. But someone and something always stopped him. This time there was nobody around.
Robert took another swig from the whiskey bottle. He could feel a good buzz coming on. Maybe in a little while, he will continue his plan. At this time he was feeling too good. He decided to wander around the house.
The furniture was still in the living room. His mother and he must have been the last tenants, because he recognized all the furnishings. He walked over the bureau on the far corner. There were pictures there, but dust had covered them. He dusted off the glass on one of them, and saw two men. Two men he never met, but he knew who they were. His father and his Uncle Bob. Both men had died in the war when he was only two years old. He was told his father was buried in the town cemetery, but his Uncle Bob’s body was never found. They said Uncle Bob was lost in action. He stared at his Uncle Bob’s image. He remembered he was named after his uncle. And by the looks of the picture, he could have been his twin. He thought back to how old Uncle Bob was at the time of his death, and realized he was about the same age.
Robert set the picture down and sat on the floor. He gulped his whiskey again. And stared at the picture. Dusk was coming soon. He had to finish his plan. But not waste a good bottle of whiskey. He drank again. And again. His head started to swim. He found it hard to keep his eyes open.
Robert woke, and found it odd that his head didn’t hurt. He found it odder that everything around him looked fresh and knew. The furniture. And floors and walls. And the picture. The picture of his father and Uncle Bob.
He stood up and looked around. No, he wasn’t dreaming. He still had on the same dirty clothes he arrived there with. He ran to the kitchen.
The appliances, though old models, looked brand new. He could still smell coffee that had been freshly made earlier. And bacon. Every morning the same. He looked at the calendar on the wall. It was a calendar of the year 1944. He looked over at the chalkboard his mother used for errands. In her handwriting, it said ‘May 2 pick up milk, butter and pork.’
May 2, 1944. The day his mother died in a car accident. He looked at the clock. It was 3 pm. Too late to save her. He was told she had died sometime that morning. He ran to the porch. He could see the figure of a young boy coming down the dirt drive. A familiar figure. Him.
—————————————————————————-
Robert stood looking at the house as the gray clouds rolled above the roof. He was glad that he had those fellows put the new roof on. Despite the mounting hospital bills. It looked like it was going to rain. And hard!
The last few months had not been easy for Robert and his family. But the cancer was in remission, and he could only thank his Uncle Bob. He thought about the man who had raised him, and started to miss him. He never knew his father, and barely remembered his mother, but he remembered Uncle Bob. He remembered Uncle Bob telling him to have regular check ups. And although he procrastinated about seeing the doctor, he was lucky enough to catch it in time. Unlike Uncle Bob.
Robert looked over at his grandson on the swing set and smiled. “Come on Bobby, I think your grandma has lunch ready.
Bobby jumped off the swing and ran to his grandfather.
Written December 1, 2009
