Appalachian Arsenic, Kenzie Stone [reading tree .txt] 📗

Though many people thought living alone seemed a dreadful life, I actually rather enjoyed it.  I hadn’t intended on living alone until I got to college and realized I missed having my own bedroom.  I suppose it didn’t help that my two roommates were complete neat freaks, whereas I was disorderly and unkempt.  I drove them crazy with my messes, and their constant nagging annoyed me greatly.

Now, I lived alone in the house that my Great Aunt Ida had left for me to inherit.  I suppose it made sense that I was the one to receive the house after she passed away.  I spent every summer for 15 years with her in the small house.  Her death affected me more greatly than my father’s, who passed away when I was 13.  I hardly knew him, really, as his work involved a lot of travel and he was rarely home.  But my Great Aunt Ida was closer to me than my own mother and both of my sisters.  Not that I didn’t love them, I really did.  In fact, I still keep in touch with all three of them.  I had plans to have Christmas at my sister Charlotte’s house this year to visit my brother-in-law and newborn nephew, in fact.

The house was bigger than what I needed, with two bedrooms, two bathrooms, a kitchen, a study, and a living room.  There was also a basement, but I never ventured down there unless I was searching for something amongst some of the old boxes.  It was nice to have an extra bedroom, in case I did end up having a guest.  Usually, it would be one of my sisters who pitied me and came to visit and provide some company.  I rarely went to visit them.  I was either working or enjoying my own company.  Sometimes I could do both at once; as a journalist, I spent a lot of time on my laptop at home typing.

I lived in a very small town located in the Appalachian Mountain range in Kentucky.  There were a total of five houses on the particular peak I lived on, one being my own.  There was the house of Benjamin Andrews, who everyone just called Benji.  There was a young couple about my age who had lived there for three years, Joshua and Eliza Browne.  Eliza was about 8 months pregnant.  The house closest to mine had been for sale as long as I could remember and was losing its chance to be sold; overgrown with weeds and vines.  Finally was Agatha.  I did not know her surname or much about her at all.  She was elderly, widowed, and kept herself rather isolated.  She did occasionally bring around apples to my house as she had a tree in her yard, but I happen to be allergic.  They did look rather lovely in the bowl on my table, though.  If only others could enjoy the beauty with me.

I wish I could say I had grown to become more orderly after moving in by myself, but then I would be lying.  I never bothered to set an alarm clock; there was nowhere I had to be at any time in the day.  If I did have an appointment, I would make it mid afternoon or later.  Always in one of three places (the options were limited in the small downtown area); a small coffee shop with a pleasant aroma and live music, a lovely diner that was always filled with sunlight and flowers, or a restaurant in which the lights were always kept dim and the food was great, but more expensive.  Luckily, I could count on the newspaper to pay for all expenses as long as I was in an interview. 

My day never started exactly the same, but if I got up before 11 a.m., I would typically lay in my bed reading or checking the news and my email on my laptop.  If I was required to go to the newspaper headquarters that day, I expected an email by noon.  If I didn’t receive it by then, there was absolutely no guarantee that I would show up and they would have to call my house to discuss what they needed me for.

After lying in bed for however long I chose to, I would get up and drink two cups of coffee, black.  I would then proceed to shower, dress, and prepare for whatever I had to do that day.  If I had an appointment, I would put on makeup and make sure my clothing was dressy.  If not, jeans and an old t-shirt were preferable.  After that, my day would always be completely unpredictable. 

One particular morning, I woke up at exactly 9:47 in the morning and immediately went to my laptop.  I had an email from the headquarters of my newspaper, announcing that my appointment for tomorrow afternoon was switched to today due to uncontrollable circumstances.  I was meeting Francine Guerra at the local diner to discuss her work in environmental sciences at 2:30 that afternoon.

I still had a few hours before I needed to go anywhere, but I did have a few errands to run and I wanted to go visit Joshua and Eliza to see how she is doing.  I knew that I’d most likely never have a child of my own, but I did enjoy children greatly.  I had befriended Eliza.  She was a nice girl, my age, and neither of us had many friends.  Her husband was kind as well, and intelligent.  He was a teacher at the local school; she an artist.  That was a similarity between her and me.  I had minored in art while I was in college.  But while she painted beautiful landscapes, I sketched odd pencil drawings that confused people when they tried to figure out what I had drawn.  I mostly kept my sketches to myself, though Eliza insisted on seeing each of my latest drawings.  “What are you doing writing up little stories for the newspaper when you have such a talent in art, Kenzie?” She would ask.

It was simple; journalism was steady work for me, and art wasn’t.  I had to support myself somehow, and unless I got married, art would have to remain simply a hobby.  I loved to draw, I really did, but I was too sensible to try and sustain myself off of it.

I snuggled up underneath my quilt; Great Aunt Ida had made it herself, and it was warm and smelled of cinnamon, just as it always had.  I curled up under it, moving my hair out of my eyes and grabbing my glasses in order to see properly without giving myself a headache.  There was a painting on the wall above my bed.  Eliza had given it to me after commenting on how “drab” my house looked without decorations.  The walls were painted solid colors, all the floors the same wood.  This particular room was a lovely sunset orange, and the painting seemed to fit right in; an autumn forest, the color of the leaves being an exact duplicate of the walls. 

Soon enough, I forced myself to get out of my bed.  I put on a pair of slippers and pulled a bathrobe over the tank top and shorts I had slept in.  I then proceeded to go get my coffee.  Once I had poured it into my mug, I took myself, my laptop, and my mug onto my back porch.  It was screened it to keep the bugs and birds out, but I could still enjoy the sight and sound of the outdoors.  My backyard wasn’t large, but I could see all the way down the side of the mountain, including Benji’s home.

I’d had my laptop since I’d gone to college.  It was a graduation present from my mother.  I would occasionally open up old documents I still had saved on it from my classes, or especially the old articles I had written for the school newspaper.  Today, I was simply sending an email to Charlotte.  She’d sent me pictures of my nephew, Alex.  He was an adorable child; I couldn’t wait to meet him on Christmas.  I felt sorry I hadn’t been able to visit them, but they lived in Boston and I didn’t have the time to go out to see them. 

By 11:30, I was done with both cups of coffee, sending all my emails, and calling in to get my regular table at the small downtown diner called The Rose Garden.  I had three hours until I needed to be there.  It would take me around 15 minutes to get there, and Miss Guerra was likely to be late.  I decided to take an extra-long shower to kill time, and then visit Eliza.  Just as I was setting my mug on the kitchen counter, I heard a knock at the door.  I rushed to answer it, hardly caring that I was in my pajamas and a bathrobe until I discovered who was at the door.  “Oh, hello, Benji!” I greeted my guest, startled.

“Hello, Kenzie,” He smiled.  “May I come in?”

“Yes, yes, of course,” I opened the door wider, allowing him to enter.  “I apologize for my appearance; I was just about to shower…”

“Sorry, is this a bad time?” He began to move toward the door.

“No, it’s fine, as long as you don’t mind my not being dressed…”

“I should have called to say I was coming.  You couldn’t have known to be ready for a visitor.”

“I’m never ready for a visitor, Benji,” I offered, smiling.

He responded with a bit of a laugh.  “I just came to see how you are.”

“That’s thoughtful of you,” I said, my voice suddenly softer than usual.  Then I remembered my manners.  “Would you like to sit?  I think I might have some coffee, though it might be cold by now…”

“I’ll sit, but I’ve had my breakfast,” He replied. 

I led him to my dainty living room, furnished with two simple armchairs and a matching couch, along with a lovely coffee table.  The majority of the furniture in the home had been my Great Aunt Ida’s.  I’d inherited really almost everything of hers.  I was the only one in the family she truly got along with.  “Sit wherever you please, it won’t make any difference to me.”

“Your home is lovely, really.  I’m surprised you don’t have a roommate.  You could rent out a room for a bit of money,” Benji suggested.

“I like to keep the spare bedroom in case someone decides to visit, or in case someone is in dire need of somewhere to stay,” I sighed.  “Or in case I get married and have a child, but that’s unlikely.”

“Unlikely?”

“Yes.  As in, it probably won’t happen,” I explained.

“You don’t know that,” He smiled.  “You just aren’t looking to get married.”

To me, it seemed as though he was being slightly flirtatious.  Not that he was unattractive; actually, he was quite the opposite.  Dark hair and blue eyes had always been my weakness, even in high school.  I didn’t dare get my hopes up and think he actually was attracted to me.  I never did.

“So, you’re just dropping by?” I asked, sitting down and crossing my legs, leaning to the right of my armchair. 

“Yes, sort of.  I read your column in the newspaper.  You’re an excellent journalist,” He leaned forward in his chair.

“Oh!  Why, thank you,” I smiled and averted my gaze.

“It’s my pleasure.  Also… I’ve been taking a cooking class, you see, and I need someone polite to taste test some of my dishes.”

“Are you inviting me over for dinner?”

“Well… To put it simply, yes,” He cleared his throat.  “But it’s not a date.”

“Not a date.  Got it,” I pulled a tiny notepad and pen out from under the cushion on my chair and began to pretend to write.  “Anything else I