MyHouse_Page

Luke stopped at the end of his driveway to catch his breath. He stared with mixed emotions at the house where so many childhood memories took place. But that world had moved on, leaving only a cold impersonal visage of March, still asleep in its winter nap.

He turned his attention to the Cuyahoga River that flowed muddy brown beside his house. It brought back memories, both good and bad, of a youth that seemed to never end. It then flashed by, only pausing to usurp the innocence of youth. He thought of the time he and his friends constructed a boat from a cement-mixing tub and set out down the Cuyahoga for Cleveland. Unfortunately, it capsized twenty yards into the voyage. He remembered coming home after his first fight and jumping in the ice-cold water to wash off the dirt and blood before sneaking into his room. He was so ashamed and afraid of his father's reaction, which turned out to be only love and caring guidance.

"Are you ready for this?" he asked himself out loud, no less apprehensive than when he was about to enter an enemy bunker. He considered the doorbell button that he had never actually used. It was familiar, but had somehow grown alien; it had taken on a sense of foreboding that seemed to shun, instead of welcoming visitors.

He pushed the button and chimes, so common to his past, announced his presence. Detecting faint movement on the other side of the door, he waited for a response. When nothing happened, he pushed the button another two times.

The door opened a crack and a voice called out, "We don't want any, go away."

Luke noticed the chain that crossed the opening, securing the door of his boyhood home. "My name is Luke Carpenter, I live here."

There was a pause, and then the door closed as the chain was removed. It reopened slightly wider than before and the face of a man appeared, evaluating Luke with a glower of contempt and mistrust. The man's eyes never looked directly at Luke, but he still managed to thoroughly inspect him, carefully scanning as if he were an enemy. The man looked confused. It appeared as if he had put his body on pause while having no idea of what to do next. Luke watched the fingers of a third hand wrap around the door just above the head of the man he was talking to.

The door started to open, forcing the greeter to resume animation and step aside. Resistant at first, he faded to servile compliance and was replaced by a larger man with a warm smile that mismatched his emotionless eyes. He also hesitated, but only long enough to evaluate the situation. His shirt hung loosely over an ample paunch that screamed of physical neglect, and on his feet he wore bedroom slippers with no socks. Luke marveled how at home this stranger looked standing there at the doorway of his family's dwelling.

"Who the hell are you?" Luke asked in a calm but demanding voice.

"Hello, my name is Colin, and you are?" he said with an unctuous smile.

"As I told your friend, my name is Lucas Carpenter, I believe I live here."

A nervous twitch exposed a slight crack in the man's mellifluous veneer. "Oh, you must be Beth's son," he said in a caring voice although he was still blocking the entrance. "I was hired to care for your mother. I am sorry to be the one to inform you that your mother is seriously ill.'

"I didn't get your last name," said Luke.

"The name is Twaddel, Colin Twaddel," he replied. Then there was a pause as if Twaddel were trying to signal Luke's turn to talk.

"I've come a long way, and I'd like to get out of the cold. Would you please help me with my bags?"

"Well, we really weren't expecting you," Twaddel said as Luke slowly bulldozed him to the side with his walker.

Compassionate Family Management, a subsidiarity of Global Home Administration, had been prominent in providing guidance to people that had lost their ability to care for themselves, especially concerning pecuniary matters. The company was incorporated in Cleveland Ohio, but the majority of its offices were in other cities and other countries. Due to a rash of elderly abuse, complaints of disinherited offspring taking advantage of their parents were becoming an everyday occurrence. These unfortunate victims were pillaged of their belongings and oftentimes their lives, not by criminals, but by so-called loved ones. A taskforce of judges, lawyers, and insurance company representatives were formed to develop some sort of solution to this escalating problem. Funds for this commission were quickly appropriated by congressional approval and a senator from Ohio was put in charge. Within days, a multitude of lobbyists began to form, each vying for the advantage of their supporter's concerns. Under the pressure of these groups, new bills were quickly fashioned, allowing the government to protect seniors by seizing control of their lives from family members. When images were broadcast of the open sores on helplessly bedridden elderly adults, there was an upsurge of myopic sentiment that demanded the enforcement of human rights. The incoherent testimony of people lying on urine stained mattresses smeared with excrement became commonplace on all networked media. This imagery spread to the streets on TVT-shirts worn by social activists and concerned citizens, outraged at the mistreatment suffered by society's living forefathers. These garments displayed the horrors of elderly abuse in a constant stream that became impossible to ignore. Due to overwhelming public opinion, the new bills were hastily reviewed and quickly voted into law. People quickly shifted from sympathy toward seniors to who could display the most gruesome images of mistreated seniors.