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Respite

Jerry's house could hardly be called that. The little wooden structure with a makeshift garage was better off being called a shed. It was down the hill from the mall, closer to the seaside. Jerry stepped onto the little porch and fought to open the screen without the thing falling off its hinges.

"Come right on in." The old man invited. "And wipe your shoes first!"

Chase stood in the doorway and looked around the little house. They had stepped into the kitchen. A wooden partition with a curtained archway separated the kitchen from the bedroom. Just like his shop.

The kitchen was small, with a sink under the biggest window and cupboards lining the top and bottom of both sides. Opposite the door was a seat built under the other window, though the seat was a storage box as Jerry moved the cushions aside and opened it to discard his tool bag. Next to the storage box was a little fridge, which stood a little higher than Chase's waist. Along the partition, a long shelf was bolted that served as a dining table; a small stool was under it, along with the wares from Jerry's last meal. A simple recliner sat at the end of the shelf, next to the archway.

Chase closed the door behind him carefully. Behind the door was a small tabletop stove on a shelf mounted to the wall. Above the stove were two more shelves with matches, oils, condiments, and seasonings. Two propane tanks were jammed snugly below the stove's shelf.

"Here." Jerry handed the boy a packet of salt crackers and a cup of hot water. "I don't got nothing fancy to spare."

"Thanks."

"And take off that hat! You're indoors." Jerry shouted grumpily.

Chase froze. If he took off his hat, the old man would recognise him. He was less than hospitable at the shop; would he kick him out if he saw his face? Before the boy could finish deliberating, Jerry snatched the hat from his head and dropped it on the seat under the window.

"Do as your elders say, brat."

Chase stood in the middle of the kitchen and watched the old man with his mouth agape. Jerry sank into his recliner and closed his eyes, yawning widely as he threw his head back. The man cracked his lids to see the boy standing still, staring at him.

"Well, I'll be damned. Sit down and eat." Jerry ordered.

Chase moved to the stool, setting the crackers and cup down on the shelf. The boy kept a keen eye on the old man as he ate. As Chase popped the last piece of cracker into his mouth, Jerry struck up a conversation.

"What are you doing on the streets, kid?"

"Nothing." Chase answered curtly.

"Hmm, nothing except crying and laughing like one of them junkies or maniacs. What? Your parents didn't want to buy you a new toy."

"You don't know me."

"I know you're a rich kid that likes to play tough. Shame your mommy ain't here to reel you in."

"Fuck you, Jerry!" Chase shouted as he got up to leave.

When the boy opened the door, Jerry slammed it shut with a kick. "I didn't say you could leave."

"What do you want?!"

Jerry's eyebrows shot up in shock. "Those are some big tears. Fight with your mother?"

Chase brushed his sleeve across his eyes. Endless tears fell faster than he could swat at them. "She's not my mother." The boy croaked when he finally calmed down.

Jerry studied the boy. "You'can sleep on the seat," he indicated to the window seat as he got up from his chair. "Come here." He called as he walked into the other room. Jerry showed Chase to the bathroom, then handed him a sheet from one of the wall shelves cluttering the small bedroom area.

Chase curled up his legs and drifted off to sleep. His dreams were nothing but nightmares. A constant repeat of the evening's events. When the boy awoke, the sun was just coming up, and Jerry was moving about the little kitchen with a flashlight in hand. A yawn escaped the boy as he sat up.

"You're up. Good." The old man remarked as he slapped the switch.

As the pair drank tea, Jerry inquired about Chase's next move, iterating that he had no plans to continue housing the boy. When Chase refused to answer, Jerry gave him a lecture about the dangers of the streets for children without guardians and urged the boy to go back home. Chase continued to stare at the man, never responding to anything he said.

"I don't got time for this."

The man got up, grabbed Chase by the arm, and ushered him out of the little house. "Go on, get!" He shouted, kicking the boy with his boot. A minute later, the boy's belongings were tossed after him.

Chase stared at the door as the sun slowly peeked over the top of the house. A cold breeze raced from the sea and rolled up the hill. The wind blew through him and past him, stirring up dust and leaves. For a single moment after the wind died, the world was still, and the leaves drifted back down to the earth. Everything was quiet. Chase took in a breath of fresh morning air, damp with the dew.

"Thanks, old man!" He shouted happily at the door.