On Leaving America – Part 29

On Leaving America – Part 29

Two groups came though house today, 11-00 to 12:00 12:30 to 1:30. Got two warning calls at ten this morning, not much warning, but Lou has the place in pretty good shape. Bucky is pissed, meowing and scratching the door from his side of the small bedroom—beginning a three hour stretch. It’s like prison for Bucks, Amber just sleeps. I rush around the house looking for details. What’s laying about? Wet towels, a dish, some papers. Coffee cup, some papers. I leave trails of paper like a comet’s trail. I check the deck. Screen door slides off its track as I go out. Hard to get it back on. There’s a sweater left hanging over a desk chair; I go to stuff it in the hall closet which is already full. When I open the door our vacuum cleaner falls out. It’s bigger than a midget. I stuff it back in wondering if the same thing will happen to the prospective buyer.

Potential lawsuit: “Judge, I was inspecting this house I thought I might buy and was attacked by a vacuum cleaner when I opened hallway closet door. It hit me in the knee. I’m in $5000 worth of pain.”
Realtor shows up 20 minutes late. I meet her on the way out—Debi. Make The Most Out Of Every Moment, her business card says. I should be packing tools in the garage today. She’s got an old man with her, my age maybe. He won’t buy, but might be checking things for someone else.
I ask her, “How much time will you be needing?”
“Ten or fifteen minutes,” Debi says.
That’s great, no problem. I make a quick run to the post office which is closed because it’s Veterans’ Day—hard to keep track of these details. The realtor is gone when I get back. I’d like to let Bucks out of the bedroom but don’t want to have to catch him and take him back a half hour later. The cats will probably start to hate me after another day or two of this.
The second realtor wants thirty minutes—comes with a young guy (almost everybody seems young when your my age). He’s carrying a baby and a boy about hip high is at his side.
“We’re just looking at houses,” the kid tells me.
Out of the mouths of babes . . . I go to Barnes and Noble thinking to lounge at Starbucks with my Ipad, but the coffee shop is full. All trying to sell their houses maybe. I browse several tattoo magazines—amazing. Thirty minutes are soon gone, as are the lookers when I have returned back home again. Bucks has hogged Amber out of the cat tree. She’s napping on my bed and in no hurry to leave. Bucks is out of the room in a flash and begging for treats. He gets a few, then I go back to the garage. It never ends.

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About Bruce Louis Dodson

Bruce Louis Dodson is an American expat now living in Borlänge, Sweden with his wife, cat and dog. He is an artist and world traveler who writes fiction and poetry and practices photography in his less than copious free time. His work has appeared in: Barely South Review - Boundaries Issue, Blue Collar Review, Pulsar Poetry (UK), Foliate Oak, Breadline Press West Coast Anthology . The E-buffet, Qarrtsiluni, Struggle Magazine, Pearl Literary Magazine, Contemporary Literature Review: India, 3rd Wednesday, Sleeping Cat Books - Trip of a Lifetime Anthology, Northern Liberties Review, Authors Abroad - Foreign & and Far Away Anthology, The Path, Page & Spine, The Crucible, Sleeping Cat Books -Trips of a Lifetime, Vine Leaves, Pirene's Fountain,Tic Toc Anthology - Kind of a Hurricane Press, Cordite Poetry Review, Buffalo Almanac and mgv2.
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2 Responses to On Leaving America – Part 29

  1. stutleytales says:

    I wish I could buy your house and put you out of your misery! Oh, I hope it sells quickly and you get to rent it back for a month.

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