Protect This House! | Teen Ink

Protect This House!

February 5, 2010
By Tanner Holm BRONZE, Kaysville, Utah
Tanner Holm BRONZE, Kaysville, Utah
3 articles 8 photos 0 comments

January 20th, 2:00 p.m.
A a spry young man rings the doorbell aside the door of his regular client. A lovely elderly woman opens the door and beckons him in, they know each other well. But to the elderly man inside, this younger fellow is a stranger. There he slept, that old man in his lazy boy beside the front window, his glasses tilted.
The young man grinned inwardly as he sent off the elderly woman and took a seat on the couch across the room from the old man. This was going to be an easy day. He took his textbook from his backpack and began to study.
The young man was a "just in case" guy. He was there to assist the old man, when he needed assistance. That was his job. Little did he know it was he that was going to need help.

The old man awoke, his eyes sliding open slowly. He saw the young man, pouring over his books across from him. Squinting, he recognized him. Well, not exactly, he just recognized what his shoes, and his books. In a darkly angered voice, the old man spoke.

"Pack up and go home, get out of my house. Leave my shoes here."

The young man jumped at the sound of his client's voice, then eased back into his relaxed estate.

"These are my shoes, sir. And I'm afraid I can't leave," the young man loudly stated (to ensure his message got to the hard-of-hearing senior) as he continued to read his text.

"This is my house. I control who goes and who stays. Now go." The old man pronounced tersely, his eyes burning with anger.

The young man looked up. He was used to his client forgetting who he is, or what he does. But something was different this time. Usually, when the elderly man did not recognize him, he would respond in anger, or frustration, or even sorrow. But never such hatred as he did now. The young man could feel it from across the room.

"This is your house, sir. I understand. But I apologize, I cannot leave you here alone."

The old man's shoulder's slumped a little, and he muttered, "At least come help me up."

Eager to help and ease the tension, the young man jumped up and walked over to the old man. And as he helped him up, he asked a sincere question.

"So where you going sir?" As he handed the old man his walker.

"I'm a going (lifts walker into the air) to kill this robber in my house!" The old man shouted, bringing down the walker onto the young man's shoulder's. Hard.

The young man jumped back, stunned, never before imagining this old man had such strength. Slowly, the old man brought the walker down, and began to advance on the young man.

"I'm not a robber, I'm here to help you!" The young man exclaimed, walking away from the old man--who was slowly, but ever, ever so surely--chasing the young man down. Periodically slaming his walker down to make emphasis.

"You've robbed my house. SLAM! You've stolen my wife from me. SLAM! And yet. SLAM! You stay here. SLAM! To rub it in my old face and make a mockery of me. SLAM! SLAM!"

The old man took a couple steps quicker than usual, and raised his walker for another strike at the nervous boy, who jumped out of the way quickly and darted into the kitchen. The old man laughed and mocked him saying, "What, you afraid of an old shell like me? Coward." As he began to beat the young man's backpack into oblivion with his walker.

The young man knew not what to do. It was his charge, his sole job to protect this man from the injuries of old age, and to assist him. He told this to the old man.
The old man responded, "You're the one that needs help and protection. It is my job to PROTECT THIS HOUSE! And you are threatening that very thing. Get OUT!"

Not sure how to handle the situation, the young man decided to wait it out in the kitchen. Until he heard the old man open the front door and scream "HELLLLP! Call the PoLICE!"

Wanting to avoid explaining his fear of this old man to the authorities, the young man jumped out from the kitchen and pointed at the old man, saying sternly, "Drop the walker."

The old man growled and made his way towards the young man, slowly. Sure of his speedy advantage over him, the young man sighed and turned around, mumbling "here we go aga--" but he stopped, listening. In the next split second he noticed the lack of noise coming from what should be the walker dragging on the carpet, and as he turned to see what the old man was doing, he realized it was too late.

Whoever had told the young man working that this old man couldn't walk without his walker, was wrong. Whoever told this young man that this old man is a high risk for falling injuries, was wrong. This is all the young man could think of as the old man sprinted across the room, brandishing his walker and pinning him to the kitchen table.

Gasping for breath, the young man asked why. Why this was happening.

"You had my daughters. You had them right there in that room. And I'm going to kill you." Emphasizing his point by slamming his walker into the young man's diaphragm.

"I --heimlich-- I don't even l-like girls." It was an embarrassing effort to absolve himself of the accusations, but an air-tight alibi.

The old man paused, looking the young man up and down, then muttered "Bull."

The young man had a cell phone in his pocket. It rang. Struggling, he answered.

"Oh hi Miss. No I'm fine. Here, you're husband would like to talk to you."

Using one hand to hold the walker off his chest and the other to hand the phone to his attacker, the young man stated desparately, "It's for you, you're wife."

The old man dropped the walker and took the phone. And began to talk.
"I love you most in the whole wide world. Come home please. And Also my dear, I found a robber here, but don't worry, I'll have him dead by the hour's end. What? He is? Well I'll be darned. Good bye dear."

The old man turned to the young man.

"Why didn't you tell me you work for me?"

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