Page 86 - The Houseguest

and would never amount to anything more. But inside, he always felt there was a small ember burning, a feeling that he had what it took to prove his father wrong. He just never had the courage to acknowledge it for fear of disappointing himself. Perhaps now was the time to stoke that ember, to become the kind of man who didn’t shun his own reflection in the mirror, the kind of man his sister could respect.
When Monday morning rolled around, Brian awoke after a fairly restful night. He was cautiously optimistic about meeting Lance Richards. After all, what kind of conversation can occur between two men from opposite sides of life’s spectrum?
He was given additional money in his weekly stipend to account for expenses traveling to and from the interview. He had ironed the gray suit he’d stolen from the thrift store and shined the free loafers that came with it that day. He slowly built up the courage to glance at his own reflection. He scanned his body from his hair to his feet and tried to recall the last time he’d worn a suit. It was his father’s funeral...hell, it was his father’s suit.
He travelled to the coffee shop and sat down to wait as he had arrived about 30 minutes early. A woman with an unusual scar across her face approached him and asked for his order. He had never been much into auras or vibes from other people, but he immediately sensed this woman had a story to tell. He ordered a black coffee and tried to act like he belonged there, amongst the functioning people of society, people he’d both hated and envied his entire life.
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The Houseguest by Linda Ellis www.LindaEllis.life