Meeting at the House
In a world where life is measured by time, and knowledge is the accumulation of that life’s time, what does one do with that knowledge when time runs out?
A man is walking along a dark street. It’s a cool evening as he pulls his overcoat up around his neck as he walks. The street is damp from the drizzle that has been falling all day. Leaves cover the yards of the house he walks past, as a dog runs to the gate of one house and begins to bark at the man. The man stops and stares at the dog. Looking deep into the dogs’ eyes, the dog stops barking and backs away from the man. A slight smile forms on his face as he chuckles at the dog’s reaction.
“Still got it,” he says to himself with a smile. He stops in front of the gates of an old house that sits at the top of the street, while he admires the tall oak tree in the front yard. “More than half of its leaves have fallen,” he said to himself as he shakes his head. He pushes open the old iron gates as he starts up the walkway to the old house. The white paint on the house looked new, as did its blue shutters that went from the porch floor to the second story of the house. A large wooden swing hangs down from the ceiling on the corner of the porch overlooking the well-kept side gardens. He walks up the five wooden steps to the front porch, not one squeaking. Grabbing the brass fox face knocker that hung from the large black cherry wood door, he knocked three loud knocks.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! Could be heard echoing down the street. He stands and waits for what seems like an eternity for a response from the other side. A woman opens the door, and with a pleasant smile invites him into the foyer of the house. A large staircase winds up the right-side wall of the house, while to the left is a living room. Straight ahead of him is a hallway that leads to a kitchen, while the doorway to the right leads to the study. A small chandelier hangs from a chain in the middle of the foyer giving off a friendly warm glow. The steps have a grey runner with red flowers going up the middle of them, as the banister gleams from the lemon scented polish that has been applied to them.
The woman takes his overcoat and hangs it on the coat rack that sits in the corner of the foyer. He could at once feel the warmth of the house deep in his bones. With her long pale hand, the woman motions him to make his way to the living room, where eleven other people are already waiting for him. He slowly walks across the polished mahogany floors to an old leather chair that sits in one corner of the room, and he sits down in it. The brick fireplace sits to the right of this old chair. A brass screen covers the hearth. The mantle is made of mahogany to match the floor. The mantle is covered in scenes of angles and demons battling above the Earth. Two large logs are burning in the fireplace, crackling and snapping small sparks that are bouncing off the brass screen. He pulls an old black well used pipe from his pocket and takes out a pouch to fill it. Striking a wooden match on the bottom of his shoe, he lit the pipe. The smell of cherry fills the room with a warm safe feeling as he draws the pipe smoke in and lets it out. He looks around the room to see all the faces staring back at him. The face ages range from people in their fifties down to people in their twenties; him being the oldest of all of them, being in his sixties. A table sits in the center of the room with finger food and drinks on it. He takes a small snifter of brandy, gives it a smell, then drinks it down.
“That should help my old bones,” he said with a smile, as he takes another one and drinks it. With a long inhale, he lets out huge smoke rings in all directions. He looks to the man to the left of him and blows a ring that floats down over the man’s neck like a huge Christmas wreath. Everyone in the room laughed a little. “Now that I have broken the ice, let’s get right to it.” He said with a slight smile.
