Frank, Isabella Nalle

Frank

He had everything he needed in that 26x24 foot room. It was filled with once-used wonders that were of no use to anyone anymore; anyone except for Frank. Underneath his pillow laid an old toothbrush, and to the side of that was a box of jigsaw puzzles that never ceased to entertain him. The room had once served as a sanctuary for playtime, but as the children grew older, the once vivid walls of pinks and violets began to fade. And as that chapter passed, the walls were repainted to compliment the beautiful black cars that were comfortably settled there, although seldom used. One day there was no longer a need for the room, so two beautiful cars turned into one, and the excess space lingered for something to fill it. Frank had watched the family for years, feeling like they were his own. From pampers to PHD’s, they were his family; but that family didn’t know he existed. Above the two-car garage was a large loft; its only contents were molding steamer trunks from past travels, a rocking horse with a balding mane, and spider webs that weren’t relegated to just Halloween. Frank slept in amongst these forgotten memories every night after the family had turned in. During the day, he would stand at the bottom of the freeway ramp with the sign he handwrote on the back of a discarded Fedex envelope that read “Vietnam Vet: Will Work For Food.” At the end of each day he would begin his loop past the closing bakery to ask for any scraps they may be throwing away. The proprietor knew Frank and always gave him a weather-appropriate drink. If he were lucky, there would be some oranges to pick from. Frank would take his hard-earned pennies and nature’s pantry up the outside ladder to the loft. He would then scan the property to ensure that his family had gone to bed; his family that didn’t know him. The kids were gone now, and the aging parents lived in the main house alone. It was a cold October night; he made an effort not to step on the squeaky rungs of the ladder as he made his way up to his quarters. Settling into his bed made up of moth-eaten blankets, horsehair pillows, and a discarded prom dress,

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he tucked in his 70-year old body and said his nightly prayers for the people who lived in the main house, thanking them for what they didn’t know they had given him. Frank awoke to an unfamiliar beeping sound coming from outside. He sat up groggily and cocked his head at the noise. Ever so slowly, he got up to peek out of the window. It was the tumult of a large van backing up in the driveway below him. He watched with confusion as box after box, and possession after possession was loaded into the Pantechnicon. He hid in his layer for the 6 hours that the loading took. As the van and family car disappeared down the driveway from view, Frank dared to quietly descend his rotting ladder. Shadowing the hedgerow, he made his way to the front of the property, where he saw a man hammering in a post that said “Coldwell Banker: For Sale.”

Isabella Nalle ’13

16 Pillars of Salt