TUESDAY TALES - WORD PROMPT "DOOR"

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“We don’t have a lot of rules. But one is you must always knock before entering a room when the door is closed.” Mrs. Gold stood in the doorway.

I nodded. Thank God. I could shut them out whenever I wanted. I sat on the bed. Firm mattress. The room had stupid posters of football teams and stuff on the walls. Hell, guess I could live with that for a place to stay and food.

“Okay,” I replied.

“I’ve cleaned out a couple of drawers. Unpack, then come to the kitchen. We need to talk.”

She left. Damn right we do. This is temporary. I’m not staying. Unpack? Unpack what? I had my stuff in a black garbage bag. There wasn’t much. Hadn’t been much money for clothes recently. I went to the second-hand place when my clothes got too small. I dumped my junk into the top drawer and headed for the kitchen.

There was a plate of chocolate chip cookies and a glass of milk on the table. I had to control myself and not grab all the cookies in the first five seconds. It wasn’t easy. Cookies looked homemade. Still, wouldn’t look too good to get thrown out on my first day. I sat down.

Mr. and Mrs. Gold sat, too. He looked away, she gazed at her hands. Uh oh. This couldn’t be good. If they couldn’t look me in the eye, then something was up.

“Where’s my mother?” I’d better find this out now before this dream ended.

“That’s what we wanted to talk to you about,” Mrs. Gold spoke.

“Yeah?”

“We made a deal with the City.” This time it was the husband.

“A deal?” Oh, shit. Here it comes.

“Yes. We agreed to take you in immediately, on a trial basis, if they would pay for cremation of your mother.” Mr. G this time.

“What?”

Mrs. Gold put her hand on my arm. “We thought you’d like to have her ashes. To keep with you. Instead of them putting her in some anonymous grave somewhere.”

Cremation? Trial basis? These words washed over me like a cold ocean wave. What the hell did it mean?

“What am I going to do with ashes?”

“It comes in a nice urn. You can put it in your room.”

I nodded. I had no clue what they were talking about and how this would be good for me. Having Ma back would be good for me. Nothing else matters a rat’s ass worth.

“Trial basis. That means if I fuck up or do something you don’t like, then I’m outta here and in a shelter?”

“That’s putting it rather crudely,” Mr. G said.

“It’s the truth, though. Right?”

“No.” Mrs. Gold faced me. “We’re not sending you anywhere. They wouldn’t agreed to a permanent arrangement yet. Seems Harry and I are on a trial basis, too.” She smiled.

I laughed. Them on a trial basis? What a joke.

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