Ancestral

Excursion

As he passed through the living room, I heard him say, “Hey Phil, how’s it hanging?”

I thought he was pulling my chain again until I heard Mr. Phipps reply, “You can be so crude. Go put some clothes on.”

I looked frantically for some paper towels but could only find the napkins. There was no way to clean up my mess in time, but I had to try. I was under the table wiping up the worst of it when he walked in. He stopped and looked at me for a moment before asking, “Which one was it, the gang bang in the park or the puddle of piss?”

“Umm…puddle of piss.”

I must have looked incredibly guilty because, as he reached into a cupboard he smiled and said, “Don’t worry about it sweety, You’re not the first.” He handed me a spray bottle and some paper towels, and then went about his morning tasks as if nothing had happened. “It makes him feel powerful,” he sighed. “He can be so persuasive and seductive, but don’t take him too seriously. He only cares about himself.” I wanted to ask for more details about their relationship, but I sensed it would be invasive, so I engaged in a little small talk and made my breakfast instead.

I had no plans for the weekend and had been hoping to do something with Ben today. But, of course, that was not possible now, so I was at a loss and feeling a bit dejected. His absence was affecting me more deeply than I wanted to admit. I hung out in the kitchen and living room more than I usually do for the first part of the morning. Then I remembered that MR.P. was going to show me around the basement sometime today, so I asked him when he wanted to do that. “Can we do it after lunch?” he asked, “I know I said late morning, but I forgot I needed to run a couple of errands this morning before the bank closes. Do you mind?”

“Of course not,” I said. “after lunch.” Left with a couple of hours to kill and realizing it was again a beautiful day, I decided to go for a walk. Maybe I would find some interesting old buildings I hadn’t noticed before.

I headed towards one of the more dilapidated parts of town, where there were a few abandoned buildings, some old farms, and lots of empty lots where buildings used to stand. This was considered the seedier part of town, but it was in no way scary or dangerous. It was just the area where most of the year-round residents lived, the people who worked at all the minimum wage jobs to service the summer people and the university community. There were only a few students here even though rents were fairly low. Most landlords tried to keep their properties available for the locals and only advertised by word of mouth. It was a matter of principle for them and I appreciated the community spirit it represented. The more recent houses were generally simple boxes or prefabricated nonentities, and there were a few mobile homes in the mix as well. The majority of houses, however, were older, using more traditional styles, such as neo-classical, neo-gothic, or cape cod, as their inspiration.

The roads were based on old cattle trails and walking paths, so there was no grid or even the slightest attempt at creating an orderly structure. The roads followed brooks and skirted around hills, and houses tended to appear in little clusters along these roads, with fairly long distances in between. Many of these clusters had names based on the farm that originally sat on that spot, such as Miller’s End, or Cow Pat Crossing. Some of the houses even carried names relating to previous owners or residents. For example, Miller’s End was made up of seven buildings. A few were fairly new, but three had signs in front identifying them as Milbrige Manor, Pimms’ Estates, and New South Farm Hall. None of them were as grand as they sounded, but it showed pride of place and I made a mental note to explore the possibility of doing some research around this as well.

I walked alone, but these were safe neighborhoods, so I had no fear. An odd thing, though, was that I constantly felt like I was being watched. I expected that when walking past occupied houses, and even made a point at waving to or greeting anyone who happened to be out in their yard. But I also felt like I was being watched when I walked by empty buildings. In fact. The feeling was more intense in these places. Even if there were just ruined foundations or empty lots. I didn’t pay it much mind and continued the exploration of my new home. After following an unmarked road to its end at a private driveway, I decided to head back to town and grab some lunch in one of the local diners. Just before the main turnoff to town I noticed a small dirt road leading up to a small hill. It was overgrown and unused, but there were the ruins of a gate along the road and I was intrigued. One quick stop won’t hurt, I thought, it’ll only take a minute to see what’s up there. I climbed over the fallen branches that blocked the entrance and made my way up the drive.

It became more overgrown as I went along, but it never became completely impassable. Just when I started to think about turning back, I rounded a curve and saw the building. It was a three-story brick structure with the remains of a grand staircase in the front. The stone stairs led to the second floor, which seemed to be the main level. The building was built into the side of the hill, so the first level was partially underground, but the windows in the front were as large and luxurious as the windows on the other two levels. The remains of a covered porch jutted out over the grand stairwell, and a widow’s watch topped the octagonal cupola leaning precariously to one side. Most of the roof was missing or threadbare, and small trees could be seen growing behind the windows inside the building.

I don’t know how long I stood there and stared. I had never seen it before, but I knew it. I knew it well. I could see what it looked like in its prime, with lace curtains, velvet couches, and the fashionable wallpaper. I could hear the sounds of laughter and lively conversation echoing through the rooms. I could see the glittering crystal candlesticks and hear the music as people danced into the night. But there was more. I could sense the sadness, the broken hearts, and shattered dreams, the lives wasted and empty, the hopelessness and despair. This was a place of great joy and greater sorrow and it was all still here.

I struggled through the tangled overgrowth that was once a well-tended garden. I just wanted to peek into one of the windows and see if there were any remnants of its grandeur still remaining. I began to see low stone borders lining the driveway and extending off to either side. It looked like there was once a formal garden here. There were also various stone blocks set within the old flowerbeds. They appeared to have once supported sculptures, but only a couple of those remained, and they were toppled, covered with overgrowth, and hardly visible. The various shrubs and bushes were wildly overgrown, and progress was slower than I anticipated. I was becoming impatient while struggling with a particularly thorny rosebush when I lost my footing and began to fall. The last thing I remember was my head hitting something hard.