The house I lived in seemed peaceful the moment I walked in. It was a two-story house painted in the family's favorite colors, grey and cream. It filled the air freshly tarnished, and the furniture was evidently wiped and cleaned. I didn't notice any dust or spiderwebs on the walls, and I was pleased with our new home. Finally, I've wished for a more peaceful existence ever since we moved to the city. My mother works as the general manager of a local fast-food restaurant, while my father stays at home because his job does not require him to be on-site.
There were four family members in this typical family. My younger brother usually went out with his friends, soaking up every ounce of his youth and hoping for the best for his happiness. I'm the polar opposite of his personality. The most appealing aspect of the environment was its tranquility. I can give prominence to my priorities, bury myself in books, and drowse in my bed all day. I wish this could be my life forever, but when the neighbors began to gather in front of our front door to greet us, my entire plan of living a peaceful life came crashing down.
Mrs. Sanchez is an elderly woman who lives alone in an old house a few meters from us. She always pays a visit, brings some warm cookies, and talks to the father. I spoke with her a few times. Because of her grace, I found her to be a sweet, charming, and pleasing person. My father once left the house to deliver some paperwork to the main office. I was waiting for last night's leftover pizza to heat up when I heard a loud bang on the front door. "Don't tell me it's Mrs. Sanchez again," I thought to myself, pausing the show I was watching.
“Hi! Good morning, young fella!” she said bubbly. “Good morning, Mrs. Sanchez. I think your visit is quite early compared to the previous days. Is there anything you’d like to say?” I just smiled as I asked her. The aura she excluded was nothing different, but she seemed more interested in having a conversation. “Here’s a lasagna. I baked it early this morning, and I think you’d like to have some. I saw your father driving away, then I see this good opportunity to get in touch with you.” I did not expect what Mrs. Sanchez said since we don’t see each other often. I invited her to come in since I didn’t want her to feel that I was avoiding her. “Sure, come on in!”
The sound of silence in our beautiful home was broken as Mrs. Sanchez entered the living room. I stood forward-facing the kitchen, peeking at the oven, and nodding my head to whatever she said. “Young fella, I was looking for my cat this morning, but I couldn’t find him. I felt sad and worried because he didn’t leave my side. I am worried about what if he hasn’t eaten yet?” she said out of nowhere. I saw her face turn from light to gloomy. “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. Perhaps, your cat is strolling around your house or playing outside. I’m sure he’ll come back.” I answered calmly and with a light voice so she wouldn’t worry too much.
I put on my best face, pretending nothing was wrong and listening to her seemingly endless stories. "The best part about being a married woman was being able to buy whatever you wanted because it was covered by my late husband's card. I remember lying to my husband about shopping, telling him I was going to buy a gift for a friend, but it was actually for me." I noticed she was thrilled and delighted to revisit her old memories. Her wrinkled and folded hands were attempting to conceal her expression.
I realized how much she missed her husband and children the moment I became immersed in her hulky, awkward presence. She has been living alone for more than three years as of today. I leaned against the wall, staring at the ceiling while listening to stories I couldn't understand. She kept telling me stories, laughing, and hitting my thigh with the pillow she was holding. When I heard the phone ring in the kitchen, I got up from the couch. "Excuse me, I have to answer the phone," she said as I was about to leave, telling me to finish the baked lasagna she had prepared. I nodded and then exited the room.
"Hello, this is Porter. Who's on the phone?" I answered the phone calmly. "Porter, this is Dad. Do you know Mrs. Sanchez? The old lady who used to talk with me every morning in the front yard?" "Oh yeah, I-uh, know her, what happened?" I inquired secretly, knowing Mrs. Sanchez was at home with me. "It was unfortunate that she had a heart attack at 6 a.m., and one of the reasons I left home early was to look after her. She passed away around 7:10 a.m., and I contacted her children to come to the hospital. I'll come home late. Tell your mom, okay?" I was about to say something when Dad hung up the phone. Mrs. Sanchez was nowhere to be found when I dashed into the living room. I was perplexed until I realized she had come to see me at the last minute.
