Here is a first draft of an unfinished short story I began to write.
Feedbacks are appreciated.
Living in a condo in a sunny evening in New York city is quit resentful when compared to living in a one-story home in cherrywood, Massachusetts. The playground where the kids play is only a block or so down the street. All the houses look the same and most of the mailboxes are the same color. The sound of birds chirping is worth getting up to in the morning. My backyard connects to the backyard of my neighbors. A boring brown-colored fence keeps them distant from us. We met them once, four years ago when we moved in. 8 weeks later, my 23 year old son spied on their 15 year old daughter. Didn’t take them that long when they realized a giant telescope was pointing directly into their daughters bedroom window. We never talk about it.
Scrambled eggs, overcooked sausages, and bacon that wasn’t cooked all the way was our breakfast on most mornings. Other times, it’s scrambled eggs and beat dough from Frenchy’s bakery on Limington, by the flower shop. She’s a pretty lousy cook, my wife. I don’t tell her, I never do. She’s too sweet for insensitive comments. Two years ago, my son moved back into the condo in New York where we previously lived in. He enjoys living there. School, friends and work is only a bus stop away from him. Lucky him. I drive to the office in a 1988 Oldsmobile. I don’t complain, it brings me from point A to point B, but if I decided to make a quick stop to point C, I’m screwed.
I work at a law firm in downtown, only three miles away. My wife is the typical housewife. She spends most of the time in her garden. It’s her own fortress of solitude. She hoped to have another child to teach her the fundamental skills of taking care of a garden. I promised her another child, but only after my promotion. I know I’m getting one, I can feel it. She hates waiting though. She’s very impatient. She accepted the marriage proposal from me, because she knew how a patient person I am, and that it could make her a better person. It did for a couple of years, but then she became herself again after our son left.