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Authors: Matt Drabble
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of red dust and coarse language. There was no swearing on the premises, no loud boisterous behavior in her home and meal times were strictly adhered to or else you went hungry. She had a neighbor, Linda Jarvis, who was a small and petty woman often bothering the police with complaints about excessive noise coming from the boarding house. Delores had tried on multiple occasions to try and get to the bottom of the woman’s beef as it clearly was an unsupported complaint. Her boarders came home on tiptoes and whispering for fear of breaking the rules and finding themselves homeless.
She currently had a new guest to break the miners’ monopoly. He was a quiet and shy young man by the name of Matt Kravis. He was studious and kept to himself, paid in cash, and barely made eye contact, which was how she liked her boarders. He was also hardly ever there it would seem, which, as far as she was concerned, was another bonus.
She heard the sound of Kravis’ truck pull up outside and she watched from behind her neat floral curtains in her private sanctuary of a bedroom. She knew every sound of every vehicle that parked outside. Most of the miners were shipped out to the Lesnar mine in large noisy people carriers supplied by Jim Lesnar himself. Kravis drove a new looking truck with a trailer for a motorcycle of some description behind him. Whenever she saw the young man, he was always carrying a bag of one kind or another and when she had surreptitiously spied upon him in the evenings, he’d always had his face buried in various papers and books.
She slipped silently from her room and glided down the long winding staircase to “bump” into her new lodger as he entered.
“Oh, good evening, Mr. Kravis,” she greeted him formally, as was her way
“Hello, Mrs. Fiorentino,” he responded politely.
“Long day?” she asked, while carefully eyeing him up and down. His clothes were dusty and his face was blotchy and red from the sun and heat. Whatever he was up to, it had been out in the desert.
“Long enough,” he joked lightly with a tired smile. “Tell me something, Mrs. Fiorentino, do you ever get used to the heat?”
“Of course, my dear, just give it about 20 years or so,” she smiled slightly, forgetting her usual stern approach. For some reason, the young man seemed different from her usual clientele and she couldn’t help but feel pleased at the change of pace.
She moved aside and allowed him to pass, watching carefully as he stomped the dust from his boots on the doormat before taking them off and lining them up neatly as per her first day instructions with all new boarders. “Have you eaten?” she found herself asking, despite the scheduled meal hour having long since departed.
“No,” he shrugged wearily.
“Well, after you’ve washed up I’ll set something out for you,” she said primly but with just a touch of springtime thaw.
“Thank you,” he replied gratefully before dragging his tired bones up the stairs to his room.
As he left, Delores Fiorentino suddenly had the most strange and fleeting thought flit through her mind. She wondered if this would have been what having a son would have felt like.
----------
Glenn Jordan locked the diner door and stretched the day’s stress from his back and heard the bones crack with relieved tension. It had been a long hot day as per usual, regardless of the air conditioning’s constant icy blast. It seemed like every day was getting to feel longer and longer these days.
He was a middle-aged man of 53 with a frame that was starting to stoop a little too much after a lifetime of standing over a grill. He had straight black hair and a skin weathered by generations of desert dwellers. His eyes were hazel and his face was smooth but warm and open.
He looked around his domain with pride. It may not have been a global behemoth, but it was his and built from the ground up with his own two hands. He had been pushing the rest of the Town Council to allow him to
She currently had a new guest to break the miners’ monopoly. He was a quiet and shy young man by the name of Matt Kravis. He was studious and kept to himself, paid in cash, and barely made eye contact, which was how she liked her boarders. He was also hardly ever there it would seem, which, as far as she was concerned, was another bonus.
She heard the sound of Kravis’ truck pull up outside and she watched from behind her neat floral curtains in her private sanctuary of a bedroom. She knew every sound of every vehicle that parked outside. Most of the miners were shipped out to the Lesnar mine in large noisy people carriers supplied by Jim Lesnar himself. Kravis drove a new looking truck with a trailer for a motorcycle of some description behind him. Whenever she saw the young man, he was always carrying a bag of one kind or another and when she had surreptitiously spied upon him in the evenings, he’d always had his face buried in various papers and books.
She slipped silently from her room and glided down the long winding staircase to “bump” into her new lodger as he entered.
“Oh, good evening, Mr. Kravis,” she greeted him formally, as was her way
“Hello, Mrs. Fiorentino,” he responded politely.
“Long day?” she asked, while carefully eyeing him up and down. His clothes were dusty and his face was blotchy and red from the sun and heat. Whatever he was up to, it had been out in the desert.
“Long enough,” he joked lightly with a tired smile. “Tell me something, Mrs. Fiorentino, do you ever get used to the heat?”
“Of course, my dear, just give it about 20 years or so,” she smiled slightly, forgetting her usual stern approach. For some reason, the young man seemed different from her usual clientele and she couldn’t help but feel pleased at the change of pace.
She moved aside and allowed him to pass, watching carefully as he stomped the dust from his boots on the doormat before taking them off and lining them up neatly as per her first day instructions with all new boarders. “Have you eaten?” she found herself asking, despite the scheduled meal hour having long since departed.
“No,” he shrugged wearily.
“Well, after you’ve washed up I’ll set something out for you,” she said primly but with just a touch of springtime thaw.
“Thank you,” he replied gratefully before dragging his tired bones up the stairs to his room.
As he left, Delores Fiorentino suddenly had the most strange and fleeting thought flit through her mind. She wondered if this would have been what having a son would have felt like.
----------
Glenn Jordan locked the diner door and stretched the day’s stress from his back and heard the bones crack with relieved tension. It had been a long hot day as per usual, regardless of the air conditioning’s constant icy blast. It seemed like every day was getting to feel longer and longer these days.
He was a middle-aged man of 53 with a frame that was starting to stoop a little too much after a lifetime of standing over a grill. He had straight black hair and a skin weathered by generations of desert dwellers. His eyes were hazel and his face was smooth but warm and open.
He looked around his domain with pride. It may not have been a global behemoth, but it was his and built from the ground up with his own two hands. He had been pushing the rest of the Town Council to allow him to
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