The Recollection

March 15th, Slyvia receives a notice: their landlord warned she needed to inspect her apartment for guests who were moving in after them, since they were set to move out by the end of March. Going from that email, another pops through: an appointment to look at a complex two streets up from their place at 11am, tomorrow. The place was called ‘The Sunshine Road.’ Before, after she received that strangers were soon to replace them, Jack, her son, saw the tense melancholy wash over her as she stormed into her bedroom. He rests in his own room to lay down and play music, avoiding hearing his mother cry. Until she knocked on his door. He pulls himself up quickly. He opens the door, and his mother tells him about the appointment at the complex up two streets; the half smile on Sylvia’s face rewarded Jack's release; able to sleep comfortably that evening without an irritating, looming fear infecting him. Although he still plays music as he closes his eyes, eventually taking off his earbuds in annoyance.

The next day, his mother, first to wake up and make coffee - Jack opens his eyes half tenderly, looking around and towards the soft lit window, developing a small headache. Sluggish on his belly as he expected every morning, he stretches and gets up and walks stiffly to his closet. Hearing his mother outside, in the living room with the T.V, watching the morning news. He clicked on the light. He picked his favorite black pants, as an attempt to stimulate the sluggishness; set with strings for tightening around his waist - easily manageable while sitting down than a stiff belt. He then chooses a standard t-shirt, dark blue and soft, wearing it without anxious anticipation; large enough to hang around his shoulders and not closely surround his waist.

He lays down the shirt and pants on the bed, taking note of only dark colors in his closet. He sits on his bed, daydreaming, and is frightened by the thought of whether he should bathe before breakfast. He assumes, because he thought his mother probably felt the same lazy emotion, she didn't make anything. Having second thoughts, he looks at the pants and shirt. Quickly, he opens his closet again and grabs his white towel. He walked into the hall and entered the bathroom, spotting his mother drinking her coffee. He closes the lid of the toilet and puts down his towel and clothes on top. Sitting on the edge of the tub, turning on the faucet, he let his fingers nicely feel the water turn warm like a heavy waterfall pouring past his hand. He takes off his clothes, not wanting to trouble how he looked in the mirror on the medicine cabinet. It's the weekend, he told himself, and opens the cabinet to see if any aspirin was there. No hope. He slowly lowered himself in the tub, letting his legs melt beneath the surface of the water; using the sound of splashing from the faucet, it soothes away the fear of remaining competent while in the morning routine.

After sitting for half a minute, he takes time to let his thoughts turn dark and pass. Once he was done, he dried his hair, brushed his teeth, as his mother went into the kitchen to refill her mug. She then sits on the couch patiently. She remains quiet, watching the news report about a mass shooting, another homicide, and every now and then good-deeds while he gets ready, half way through her coffee. I wonder if I should call his father, she thought, and quickly dismissed the thought.

When the time reached ten-fifteen, Jack and his mother walked down from their apartment and got in the car. They headed down the road, stopping at each red light as softly as Sylvia could. “They should report about how nasty people can be on the road these days,” she said.

As Jack looks out the window, it is apparent what his mind was afraid of while trying to ignore his awful headache. And clearly, it wasn’t going away anytime soon.

In the last several weeks they have been searching for a decent place to live before the end of March. Two weeks before, they drove to two apartment complexes that also toured by an established appointment. Much to Jack’s mood, unknown to him why he felt heavy and depressed, they walked into a manager's office for each tour of each complex. A similar process then happened both routinely by the agent, who toured the apartment, and within Jack.

Over the course of the appointments of each apartment one blended in with one another: the same textured carpet and off-white walls, the kitchen having the old styled wooden pieces, both on the pantries and on the closet space.

Before he entered both empty apartments, Jack observed the outside of the complex, and already he had a clue what the inside might look like - because, he thought, we already have been to one just like it. And walking through those apartments, the agents had the same voice, same face, and same demeanor; he felt needed to notice this, but was afraid to think negatively about them. Now, as he stares out the window on their way to another, Houses, Apartments, parks and office buildings fly past the glass. He then thinks, and realizes, - I don’t know how to feel and this definitely won't feel the same once I need my own apartment.

He quickly glances at his mother, feeling the pulsing in his head lean over him. He now feared relief would fairly possess the rest of today. He closes his eyes and sits back, and thought remaining in this position would suddenly wake him into a small bed, back at 10 years old, - finally I am only able to dream this far in life, he thought, and settled with the car as it rumbled steadily along the road.

By ten-fortyfive they came around and passed an intersection. And Jack spots the two, tall buildings, named before the turn-off, ‘The Sunshine Road.’ They drive left to enter the parking lot, and Jack notices he was across his once high school campus: imagine, at some point I'll be back at that sidewalk walking towards my classes. Looking back, the two apartment buildings were similar in structure and color; Jack helped his mother look for a spot to park, as she seemed suddenly lost and anxious; definitely thinking how to set herself to consider moving in these tall buildings, Jack thought deliberately. The Sunshine smiling on a sign before the title, Sunshine Road.

Part 2:

As they walk up and into the building, pressing a button to ring the front doors, the agent, Mrs. Smith walks around a corner as though she had waited in that spot all day. Opening the door, she says, “Hello? Can you please tell me your name?” wearing bright red lipstick.

“I’m Slyvia. This is my son, Jack,” Sylvia says, and shakes hands with Mrs. Smith. “Nice to see you.” Jack observed Mrs. Smith was shorter than Sylvia, then compared his height to his mother. My god, he thought, she’s getting short, and looked back at Mrs. Smith.

They both smiled as Mrs. Smith nodded towards Jack and led them to her office on the left side of the entrance.

They sit down, and for a few minutes, the conversation about vouchers, price ranges, and fee’s begins, and Jack then spaces himself and looks around the office. He was piecing together the big, expensive printer behind Mrs. Smith, the shallow, big plant behind her desk, and looking on the wall left of him, a small portrait of a quote, nicely framed by wood, ‘change is painful,’ Jack read in his mind. ‘But nothing is as painful as staying stuck somewhere you don’t belong.’ Jack then thought, is that for her or for us?, and held in a laugh. When was the last time I read a book, he thought.

He placed his hands on his lap thinking he must look like he was actively listening. Then at the window, with white blinds, he glanced at his mother and observed how the light bounced on her face creating a sharp silhouette behind her. The contrast around shadows and walls, he thought closely about how the sun felt when resting against the sun, like at a children's park or inside the back seat of your parents truck or car.  

Turning to Mrs. Smith, he only sees Mrs. Smith's forehead since he sat on the left, as a desktop computer stood between them. Mrs. Smith smiles and speaks softly with Sylvia. Jack thought how he was safe from the adult conversation not having to engage. Maybe in those other apartments I would live there and buy my own fake plants and have my own landlord - and remember this exact moment how I thought this while I stood in the sun by the window.

Finally coming to focus his consciousness, “-of course,” Mrs. Smith says, “but sadly we don’t do that; only you and your son will be paying utilities and water.” She tightens her lips and waits for Sylvia to respond. Jack looks at his mother, lost.

“Well, of course,” Sylvia says, swallowing. Then adds inadequately, “I would have to see if it could work though. You see -,” she began, and Jack went back looking out the window. Daydreaming he was alone at a table in an apartment somewhere - maybe downtown or up the hills where we used to live when I was 9 years old.  

He thinks, what kind of son would I be if I could go back remembering what happened up till now?

When he snaps back again: 7 years old and I can't remember what apartment… I could barely piece together with my memory where we lived.

Then,“Wonderful,” Mrs. Smith said quickly. She leans back in her chair adjusting her white collar, then leans back up and says, “so let's go ahead and see if it's right for you.”

“Okay then,” Sylvia says. They stand up and begin walking out the office. Caught half ready Jack stubbles exiting out the doors and into the warm air. However, the tall building blocked the sun so only a shadow covered them.

Part 3:

They walked across the parking lot entering the second building. Jack stays behind his mother to make himself comfortable; to seem complacent, he doesn't want to mind his mother’s presence as Slvia follows behind Mrs. Smith. They talked more as Jack paced himself. Passing the entrance and walking within,

Mrs. Smith walks to the elevators and presses a button to go up. The place had a similar layout like the one in the first building only no office was on the left when they entered. Jack looks at a few chairs in the space and imagines how he’ll come down and sketch in his notebook, if they ever chose this one; watching tenants entering and leaving. I wonder if we had a room like this in the other apartment - was I 6 or 7 at the time? 

While they wait, “I have a question,” Sylvia asks.

“Surely,” Mrs. Smith says. She holds her keys in front of her and only uses her head to turn to Slyvia while the rest face the elevator.

“We have two large mattresses of course - when we move in, how did other tenants carry their furniture and beds?”

A light flickers on top of the silver doors and a bell rings. “They used the elevators,” Mrs. Smith says. She walks in to press a button to the 4th floor, adjusting her white collar.

“Really!,” Slyvia says, walking in, trying to imagine how prepared she must be to carry the mattress to fit within the elevator. “Wow. It's just that we have two beds at our present address; we had a hard time carrying up our mattresses only two floors up,” Sylvia says giggling nervously. As if Mrs. Smith perceived them vulnerable and weak. Meanwhile Jack walked in and stood against the corner. He wanted to add how he couldn’t sleep for two weeks after they moved into their present apartment. Then thinking, if the scene was needed to just explain, he decides to nod to remain casual in front of Mrs. Smith and his mother. He had at least explained the story once to another manager the week before, and only then did the manager and Slyvia nodded casually. And the manager only said, “ah yes, that's the difficult part about all of this” as though remembering back to his own adolescence.

By a bell, the elevator arrives. Jack focuses and sees the number 4 light up. The elevator comes to a halt on the 4th floor and the doors slide open. “It's on the left,” Mrs. Smith says, holding the doors with one arm.

Once Slvia and Jack exit, she walks out and passes them to walk down the hall to open the door. Jack turns, feeling his headache increase in pain, and asks, “Can we go to the pharmacy, after? I don’t know what’s happening. I've been getting these awful headaches lately,” putting one hand on the side of his head. He attempted to explain more effectively but thought the words he used would do.

“Here,” Sylvia says. She pulls her purse around and reaches and grabs a small bottle, the one he was looking for in the bathroom. She twists the cap open and juggles it down her palm. A few small, tiny caps fall. “Sorry I needed aspirin. Only take two.” Jack, carefully, grabs with his fingertips the two caps and throws it down his mouth, chews it, then swallows it.

Both continued walking down the hall; half lit on two ends as Mrs. Smith was still searching for the right keys to unlock the door; the number 4E in gold on top of the peephole.  

She unlocks it and Mrs. Smith pushes open the door. Jack follows Slyvia inside as Mrs. Smith then walks in. Without shutting the door Mrs. Smith stands near it. She watches as Sylvia slowly circles the empty, presumed living room. The window at the end was the porch; and as always, the floor was wood against the off white wallpaper. Sylvia compared her own living room to the walls and wooden floor.

“We’ll have to carry out mattresses one piece at a time,” she said. Jack, meanwhile, entered the kitchen on the left connecting to a small hall. It had a sink, dishwasher, and electric stove. He opens one of the pantries above the stove spotting a roach in the corner, dead. He glances back and quickly closes the pantry then exits the kitchen. He steps inside one room and thought, this could definitely be my room; the sun outside passes the window glass giving a white hue on the carpet floor. Jack then entered the room with an attached bathroom; turning around, Slyvia walks up and says, “this would be my room, of course,” and giggles.

Everytime a strange optimism came over her voice, it annoyed Jack she sometimes held in herself, for obvious mental safety reasons. Thus, a lot, she didn't sound quite as natural as she thought in front of Jack. She goes forward to look inside the closet, sliding open the door, taller than her, as Jack meanwhile enters the attached bathroom, dark and almost silent.

“What do you think?,” Mrs. Smith said from the living room, holding a clipboard. Slyvia slides the closet shut and steps back towards the living room to discuss terms with Mrs. Smith.

Jack hears his mother’s voice, echoing, along Mrs. Smiths’, in the living room through a vent. He shuts the door to darken the bathroom. He stares at a mirror and thinks nicely how, if dark enough, he might see his face change - obscuring his eyes and mouth into a fun, distorting realm. Though, with the door closed, the voices from outside seemed to drift afar, and Jack took the advantage to breathe to get rid of his headache. Everything happens for a reason, he whispers to himself.

Taking one breath, suddenly, “I’m sorry you have to move here,” a voice says. A boy’s face as Jack barely can make out the mouth - the boy stands near the corner looking at the mirror.

“Who?” Jack says, and opens the door to let the sun from the big window by the giant closet enter to see the boy clearly. “Sorry, why are you hiding in here?”

The boy smiles, giggling, and says, “I didn’t want to say anything until we were alone- is that our mom, now?”

“Yes,” Jack says nervously. “We’re trying to find a decent apartment.” ‘Decent,’ Jack thought, I never used that word.

“Sounds exciting,” the boy says, but adds, “at least for our mother. She seems the most motivated to move.” The boy peeks outside, as Jack observes the lack of fear on the boy’s face, nearly enjoying the liberty he seemed to carry. The boy pulled his head back and looked at Jack. “Do you want to live in this building?” The boy asks.

“I don’t know! I used to go to that high school across the street.”

“It must be nice to just walk across,” the boy says, trying to remain casual, peeking out the small slit of light towards the window.

“The best part would be I wouldn't have to go until school started at 8.” Jack then looks back at the boy, and both stare at each other wondrously, as if they just noticed one another.

The boy then asks, “Where is our dad?”

Jack then says, “he now lives at - .” Jack stops, putting his finger cartoonishly on his lip, looking down at the floor. “Huh. I can’t seem to remember - I think it was down 12th avenue, a bit further down. It’s strange, I can’t seem to -”

“Jack, come out of the bathroom we are heading downstairs,” Slyvia says from the hall. Jack responded, “Coming right out!”

  Before he could turn back around to say good-bye, the boy already disappeared. Poor thing, Jack thought, and quickly walked out and met Mrs. Smith at the door. Waiting for him so she could lock up.

He catches up with his mother heading to the elevators. She turns around and asks, “What were you doing in the dark there? I could hear you talking to yourself.” Jack giggles and walks over to press the button to call an elevator. He must've been bored, Syvia thought, and asked, “What did you think about the apartment?”

Jack looked down, noticing his headache no longer as strong, and said, “I like it if you like it. You're the adult after all. But, probably for us, it could work.” He smiles as Mrs. Smith walked up and asked, “so, what did you guys think?”

“It's fine,” Slyvia said. Then looking at Jack curiously, she says, “I nearly screamed when I saw a roach in the pantries. Maybe we can talk, then.” And Mrs. Smith, terrified, only nods. The silver doors then open. And the hall goes silent once the doors close to take them down.