Nick Ward - Narrative - A Short Story
Description
Vocal Characteristics
Language
EnglishVoice Age
Middle Aged (35-54)Accents
North American (Canadian-General)Transcript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
uh, Mike rolled in defendant early the next morning. There wasn't a cloud in the sky. It was warming up quickly. Now, in this, along with the pervasive smell of the pope mill already made the air oppressive. Not much changes here, he mused to himself as he passed the Timberland Hotel. It had been almost 30 years now, since he'd last seen in there is a small boy with his mother. He'd had the pancakes, his mother a black coffee. He could still see that big mill worker who sat directly ahead of him. In the next booth. The man was eating a plate of steak and eggs large enough to feed six. Or at least it seemed that way to him, A 10 year old boy with away for a mother. As he turned and crossed behind the old I G. A grocery store, he kept thinking of the last thing David said to him back in Rockwood, it'll be gone. You know the house. They probably bulldoze that old place long ago. ****, there'll be a new subdivision built right over it. After driving past a new school building, he pulled over at the corner of McLeod and Sherwood. The houses look familiar, though nearly all of them now sported satellite dishes on lots of them had better siding and windows than he remembered. The cars and trucks in the driveways look newer, too, and the driveways were term act. He turned left on Sherwood and slowly drove along until he came up parallel to where Eddie used to live. Eddie, his seven year old sidekick and partner in crime. Eddie the great Kidder, fooling about on his bike. Annie, whose attention is being diverted for just the one split second long enough to be killed outright by that logging truck out on the highway. We shouldn't have bean out there that day, Mike said to himself. Eddie's house was gone on the lot was empty. Local legend held that the house had being occupied by the biggest bootlegger in town. Before Eddie's folks rented, he and Eddie used to hide out under the would stoop at the back, and that was where they found a large, unopened bottle of London dry gin. And he's dead. It said. You better let me take care of it, boys. And that was that. So Eddie's house was no more Dave was probably right about his mother's ups, too. After all, it was even more mean and tired than Eddie's little two bedroom place. He continued around the bend on Sherwood, past the coal Kean's on his left. Their house was still there, but the sighting was a different color now, and there was a two car garage and what might be a workshop up the hill at the end of their driveway To his left, Mike could see Dave was right about the subdivision. To no more forest, right up to the back of the house is on the southwest side, assure would, but rows of newer, more modern homes. But then, halfway again along the street, he suddenly saw that Dave had bean wrong. There was his mother's poky little house. Someone lived there, still someone who cared about the little house that they put up a bit of siding and break on the front and built a white picket fence and a gate to enclose a tidy garden where he had only remembered in different snatches of weeds and grass. David being wrong. The little house was still there after