Deja Vu

January 17, 2013
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Déjà Vu
Why is this book never ending? I´ve got so much work to do. Clean the garage, wash the dishes, and do my laundry. And I still have to mist out the cow´s barn.

Sitting in his old, mud brown chair, one leg over the other one, looking through his small glasses, his thoughts are surrounding him. Waking up in the middle of the day is not the yellow from the egg. Doing that once is fine, but doing that every day and even though you have a farm to take care of is even worse. It leads to not getting anything done by the time evening comes, particularly if you read the day away, which you don´t want to do because you´re getting too lazy. He isn’t even good at procrastinating anymore.
“Okay let’s make dinner. Just some eggs and toast, that should be enough,” walking over to the refrigerator to try to find out if there is still some of his favorite meal left.
“No way, everything empty? That can’t be true I just filled it up two weeks ago. That’s never happened before. There should be still some of the eggs left, which are always dried out, so that there is just the dotter inside.”
A door closes in the living room.
Fred quickly turns around but can’t see anything.
“I’m probably hallucinating, let’s find something to eat.” He opens the closet in the kitchen. “What about this noodle soup, expired four months ago. I better cook this quick.”
A thud comes from upstairs.
Fred runs to the living room and gets his gun from its compartment in the bookshelf. He cocks the gun and goes around the kitchen table towards the hall, following the noise. Looking around the corner to the bathroom he sees that everything from the drawers is lying on the ground.
Opening the door, he holds the gun right in front of a young boy’s face.
“Please don’t shoot. I’m too young to die.” The young kid shivers.
“Are you kidding me, what are you doing here? This isn’t your house.”
“I ran away, because my parents had a big fight.” The boy says, shivering from the cold.
The gun in Fred´s left hand slowly sinks and he finally places it next to his old tooth brush.
“And what are you looking for in my house; there is no reason to come in the backdoor. By the way, you´re too young to run away, especially when it´s dark outside.” Fred says.
“Why too young?”
“Because you´re five years old.”
“I’m six!”
“Okay then six, but you are still too young to run away from your parents. I did that when I was sixteen. Believe me that wasn´t the best decision of my life. I messed up my whole life and now look at me: eighty-one, no wife, no family, talking to myself, depressed, never leaving my house and the only positive thing about my life is that I have a farm. And that isn´t even that positive. Can you imagine having such a big farm all to yourself? Sounds great right? But it isn’t.”
“I´ve spent sixty-five years here in this little village without knowing anyone. Even my monthly walk to the grocery store hasn´t improved that. I bet no one even knows that I exist and no one cares about this farm one mile up north from Poplar. And now I’m talking to a six-year old boy who can´t understand what I´m telling him.”
Fred takes his gun and starts walking towards the steps. He slowly walks down the stairs. Finally reaching the ground floor, he gets into the kitchen to finish making his soup. Watching the soup boiling and the bulbs buzzing in the kitchen is the boy, standing in the doorframe.
“My name is Tim, what´s yours?”
“Me? Oh my name. I´m Fred Allanson and I´m going to take you home after dinner.”
Tim sits down at the dinner table. He doesn´t dare to say anything.
“I hope you´re hungry, because I am and now I´m going to share my last can of soup with you.” Fred murmurs as he sits down at the opposite side of the table.
No response from the other side of the table. No talking, smiling, or looking. No sadness. Both are eating their noodle soup. After Fred is done with his, he picks up his plate and carries it over to the sink, which is overfilled with old dried leftovers on the plates. Tim takes his still half full bowl of soup and carries it towards the kitchen sink and places it on a five high plate tower, carefully so that no soup spills over the edges.
“Take your coat from the backdoor,” advises Fred.
Tim follows Fred out of the garage door to the car. Sitting in the back row-middle, he looks out of the front windows. The car drives carefully through the streets. One corner, a huge curve and a traffic light later, Fred stops the car in front of a little town house. The lights of the porch come on and two men run towards the car. Tim winces as they open the back door and hug Tim.
Fred shoves the car in reverse. The family walks hand in hand towards the house. One man turns around, gives Fred a nod, and grabs his son´s hand and walks inside. After they close the door and he starts to drive away, he passes a mailbox with Allanson on the side.

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