Dark Side of Town

It’s the middle of October. Fallen leaves scatter the road. Cars speed by, forceful winds blow the leaves back into our yard. “Those cars drive too fast ‘round here!” yelled my grandfather. He doesn’t know that people don’t want to stay too long in our town. They’re scared.

We live in a shanty, brick home located in Detroit, Michigan. Our walls are hollow and the floors are cold. The windows let in the gusts from the outdoors, even though they are closed. I live with my grandparents, Hugh and Norma. They’ve been together since they were teens in the 50’s. They’ve been through hell and back. They were one of the first interracial couples on the block, and you can imagine how that went down. I love them so, but they’re a bit oblivious to the world now, due to their old age.

I’m undoubtedly grateful to them, as they took me in after my parent’s neglect. My parents were unable to recover from the start of the opioid epidemic, and let it take over our family. I’m thankfully the only child, so not another child had been affected by their mistreatment. Also, my name is Lou. I forgot to mention. I’m 22. Maybe a bit too old to be living with my grandparents still. I feel like I owe it to them, though, to care for them the way they cared for me.

Time moves slow, normally.

It’s another restless night, unable to get comfortable under my pilled sheets. My head spins at either angle. I decide to get up, step onto the ice cold floor, stepping into my slippers. I put on my oversized pullover and creep down the hall. I don’t want to wake them. I get to the kitchen and slowly open the screen door that leads to our backyard; small but quaint. I’m outside in the chill breeze. The moon looks closer than normal today. I sit and lie back in one of our old beach chairs, staring at the stars and dreaming of what could be. The trees flitter with the wind. Sounds of whistleful leaves run across our lawn. I’m cold, but the cold doesn’t seem to bother me anymore. I somehow get too comfortable.

Dawn has made its grand appearance. Robins chirp their morning tune. Our neighbor’s pet hen pretends to be a rooster, letting our neighborhood know it’s morning. It’s squawk had woken me up and I was startled. I didn’t realize I had fallen asleep. Today is another day, a day just like yesterday, and the day before. I wanted to make today different, as I’m tired of the same-old.

After eating our daily grits, I got changed and I headed out. “Don’t you go chasing trouble,” joked my grandfather. My grandma nodded; she doesn’t say much anymore. I laughed and went out my way. Normally, I would go down to the creek by our block, but I decided to go in the other direction, towards the “dark side of town”. That’s what our neighbors call it. Our block is decrepit itself, but this area is even worse. It’s mostly vacant. Foreclosures had taken over. No family has lived in these homes for ages. They’re homes to squatters and “infidels”. We’re told not to roam here, but I have been curious for years.

The first house I walked by immediately sent shutters down my spine. The door was completely off its hinges and the windows were smashed in. I imagined what family might have lived there before all this happened. Hopeful families in their new homes. A father, that may work too many hours, but he doesn’t mind if that means his family has food on the table. A stay-at-home mom, who might drink a bit too much after putting the kids to bed. As for the kids, there’s a boy and girl. They’re barely in their teens. They have the patriotic mentality: “I believe in the American dream!” And I guess this is what had to happen. I wonder if they still believe.

I walked by a few more run down homes until I got to the end of the road. There was one more home, tangled up in evergreen vines. Its brown window shutters moved with the wind, banging against the form of the house. It wasn’t as destroyed as the rest of the houses on the block, it was definitely more inviting. The grass had overgrown, so tall it was almost to my knees. I don’t think anyone has been here in ages. I decided to get closer. Something about the red door attracted me; with all its splinters and peeling paint. As I got closer, I felt more at peace- this yard was filled with so much light, despite being on the dark side of town.

I scoped the area, making sure that I was the only one around. I didn’t want to let my grandfather down- I’m not here “chasing trouble”, instead I am chasing adventure.

Maybe I’m chasing an escape.

The yard was surrounded by trees, almost jungle-like. The house wasn’t too small but it also wasn’t too big. It had off-white wooden siding and three big windows outfront. There was one window off the side of the house, on the top floor, which I assumed was the attic. I started to get a bit anxious at this point. As much as I wanted to go inside, I just wasn’t sure what I might find. A crime scene? A satanic ritual? A parallel universe? So many things crossed my mind, but I went anyway. The door was wide open so I made my way through the knee-high grass over to the front of the house. I walked in, expecting the worst.

Sun poured through the broken window panes, spilling onto the lifted wooden floor tiles. There was glass scattered along the walls and spider webs hanging from every corner. The walls were an olive green and there was a beautiful oriental rug in the middle of what used to be a living room. You could tell this was a beautiful home before it was abandoned. The kitchen walls were orange and someone had painted sunflowers by the windows. A dining room table, set for a dinner that could have been this family’s last. I went up the stairs on the left of the door. I started to sweat at this point. Just because downstairs was so pleasant, it could be hiding something chilling upstairs, lord knows.

I got to the top of the stairs, there was a bathroom right ahead and a long hallway to the right. The bathroom was almost pristine; as if a maid had been coming every week for the last 15 years. It was very odd. I made my way down the hallway and I came across the first bedroom. It was a little boy’s room. It was extraordinarily clean. The walls were baby blue and there was a dark oak crib in the corner. Paintings of old childhood storybooks scattered the walls. Whoever lived here was an artist.

After looking through the first bedroom, I made it to the second. This room was light purple and smelled of stale perfume. There was a stained white canopy enclosing a teen girl’s dusty bed. The floor was covered with beer bottles and old photos. I knelt down to look at some of the pictures. It showed a family of five; A mom, dad, two daughters, and a baby. The mom looked tired with deep, hollow eyes. The dad looked a bit out of his mind. The oldest daughter seemed to put up a front, but I could tell behind those eyes- there was hurt. The younger daughter had spirit. She had hope behind her eyes. And as for the baby, he was just a baby. Unknowing of what to come- really unaware of life at all.

At the end of the hallway were doors on the left and right. I looked into the right door first, and this was the youngest daughters room. Pink floral walls with a twin size bed by the window. It was the window I had seen outside, but it didn’t belong to the attic. It lit up this pale pink room, with the same spirit I had seen in the eyes of the little girl. It wasn’t as dirty as the older daughter’s room, but it certainly wasn’t as clean as the baby’s room. Across the hall was, what I was expecting to be, the parent’s room. I walked in and my heart sunk. The wallpaper was ripped and there were broken mirrors and glass filling the room. It was heavy in here. The room was red and felt evil. There was a lot of trauma in this room. I almost couldn’t breathe.

I ran back downstairs and saw another door across the room. I decided to look inside and it was leading down to the basement. In scary movies, there’s always that one person that makes poor decisions and winds up dead, and I guess I am that person today. I crept down the stairs and the smell of mildew almost choked me. The carpeted floors were wet and there was only one window that let in the smallest amount of light. The beam of light that was able to make it in, shined down on a small wooden box in the middle of the room. I walked over and picked it up, quickly hopping back up the stairs to get away from the smell. I sat down on the oriental carpet and opened the box.

Inside was a small black notebook and a silver container. I opened the notebook to the first page, and it was a diary. The first page wrote, “Dear Diary, this is my first entry. My name is Suzie. I’m 10 years old. And my family is falling apart.” I read through more pages and the closer I got to the end, the heavier my heart felt. I could feel this child’s emotions so deep, it broke me. She wrote about how she had been trying to save her family. Her father was an alcoholic and her mother was emotionally absent and addicted to pills. The daughter had been saving up money to help afford to keep the house. Her older sister had also been helping with her part time job. Their goal was 30,000$. Such a huge amount of money, I felt sorry that their child-like minds thought that was achievable.

As the journal went on, the neglect piled high. The parents were divorcing and the children had been left to fend for themselves, as the parents dealt with their problems by succumbing to their vices.The girl had written on the last page, “We weren’t able to make it.”, dated 02/18/2009. A tear had streamed down my cheek, quickly wiping it away, I picked up the container to see what was inside. It was fairly heavy. The lid was on pretty tight but I somehow managed to get it open. Inside, were coins and cash. My heart was even heavier than it was before. Why didn’t they take it with them? I don’t know how things really ended, though. I counted through the money and as the amount went higher, the more my heart began to race. They had made roughly over $20,000. I couldn’t believe it. They were so close. How did they manage to make this much? And why didn’t they take it??? Questions ran through my mind like a hamster on a wheel.

Today marked the first day, on my journey to finding this family. The adventure found today, was the start of something fulfilling. I am going to reunite this money to those girls- somehow, some way or the other. I have their photos and their old address. I have her name. I got up off the floor and put everything back in the box. I headed out of the house, leaving behind the broken memories of the broken family. I ran down the street, back to my house, and out of the dark side of town.