Clown
Since I can remember, the Johnson boy was always too reserved. The first time I saw him I was with my mother at the supermarket. He had just finished his military service and was walking on the halls with his head down while his uncle said cruel things to make fun of him. His parents had died and his only family lived in the peculiar 5-floors house nearby the forest and the meadow.
I always wanted to talk to him, to establish a friendship or just share a smile, but he never lifted his head.
You could tell from his body language that he was not a shy boy, he just bowed down to his uncle.
Mr. Morgan was the kind of man you imagine when you think of Count Olaf. Petulant, noisy and completely insensitive. He had a small fortune he had made with some business over the years and never complained about having his family living with him in his huge house, he even seemed happy about it.
The whole Morgan house was a mixture of introverted children, pompous women full of morals and prejudices, and men with such a low voice they had to approach to your ear to speak properly. Uncle Morgan was the king and nobody had a personality or character that stood out more than his.
My family lived exactly 20 meters to the right in a similar building, but painted in warm colors that resembled a cabin. Grandpa had been a friend of Mr. Morgan since they were kids, when the meadow still had normal houses and other habitants besides them. Both decided to build their homes in the same place where they used to play then, and as their fortunes and families grew bigger, the houses did as well.
Both families used to meet in front of both houses very normally. It was like a huge family divided into two asymmetrical buildings facing the forest.
The town was 2km away, and the nearest town was about 50km away, but nobody left that small piece of land. It was probably due to the juicy inheritances that none of the elderly had distributed yet. It always seemed like a game to be the favorite to keep everything, and the 20 individuals in the Morgan house played that game too seriously.
My grandmother was the one who had been in charge of our house for 2 years, when grandpa had suffered a heart attack and decided to leave everything to her name. She had achieved a new balance between all of us, almost completely eradicating the dynamic to be the favorite, which made the atmosphere cozier. At least that was what she was trying to do.
I never saw the Johnson boy going to school since his arrival. The only times I could have any sight of him were when he left the house, and he was always accompanied by Mr. Morgan’s taunts on one side. It was as if he had decided to make him his personal clown.
Sometimes I wondered if he had violent thoughts, if he dreamed of hitting his uncle or strangulate him until he loses his voice. He always looked impassive and tolerant, as if a bubble of serenity protected him. There was no sadness, anger or fear in his face, and it was perhaps the curiosity to know if any of that existed inside him that attracted me, because even I, the prudish girl of the family, had internal demons that beg to come out.
