Rough but Livable

Posted byNicholas RadfordPosted inUncategorized

This blog is a little different. A recent viral tweet (as seen above), which has since been deleted (or the person went private), inspired me to write my first-ever romantic short story! It’s about the housing market, but really it’s about someone who just wants to start over with a simple life in rural America.

$15k bought me a two-bedroom, two-bathroom, 987-square-foot ranch-style home in Lansford, North Dakota. It’s a little rough but livable. In the same town, Northern Plains Railroad was hiring a Utility Mechanic starting at $25-28/hr. No experience required! This was my chance. When I saw someone online touting such an incredible deal, I knew I had to jump on it before some like-minded city folk decided to use this opportunity to get away from all the hustle and bustle to lead a quiet life. Surely there were many competitors, so imagine my surprise when the real estate agent from Zillow told me we got the house–sight unseen!

It didn’t take me long to quit my desk job, pack up my things, and start the cross-country trek. 

Upon arriving at my new home, I saw just what my hard-earned money had gotten me. It certainly was rough–no flooring, no appliances, and the walls were definitely due for a fresh coat of paint–but I could make it work. I had set out to live a simpler life, which meant a little more physical labor. I could take care of it, especially once those big bucks started rolling in from the railroad. Unfortunately, I wasn’t scheduled to start for another month, so I’d have to squeeze my savings tight until then. 

That didn’t mean I couldn’t enjoy myself though. I should celebrate!

I’d already done some research on the town and knew the one and only spot to eat was at the Lanford Cafe/Mall/Bar/Motel. No really, it’s the only place to eat. So, I took a break from unloading my boxes and started to walk the three blocks between me and Historic Downtown Lansford. 

It was a great opportunity to see the neighborhood, and what a sight it was. Rusted trucks sat parked on lawns…or were they fields? They seemed too big to be just a lawn, but maybe that’s what people out here needed. It’s probably just my city brain thinking too hard about how that space could be better utilized for shopping, eating, or just living. 

Turn that off, I told myself. After all, I moved out here to get some space. Who was I to judge?

When I finally arrived at the cafe, I took a moment to prepare myself for the reception I was about to receive. I pictured a scene from an old movie where everyone in the small town saloon turned to look at the unwelcome newcomer as the music suddenly stopped playing in the background. 

No, I told myself, small-town folk are friendly and welcoming. It’ll be fine.

After successfully reassuring myself, I pushed through the swinging glass door and made my entrance. 

To my surprise, I wasn’t met with tense stares or welcoming smiles. In fact, there was nobody here at all. The dimly-lit cafe/bar sat empty, and even a little dusty. The sturdy-looking tables that partially filled the space made the chairs that were paired with them look even more cheap and flimsy than they would have on their own. In the back was a bar, also empty, with those cheap metal stools that are impossible to slide over the floor, but with a hole in the top so anyone could just grab it and carry it elsewhere.

Had I missed a sign that said they were closed for the day? I looked back to check the door behind me. There were posters for a yard sale and a missing cat poster, but nothing about them being closed.

“Oh hello,” came a voice from behind me. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in. Please sit anywhere, I’ll be right with you.”

I turned just in time to see that the voice was coming from a strong-looking server in a white apron. His blonde curly hair dangled across his brow as he flashed me a kind smile before disappearing back into the kitchen. I looked around at the empty tables and sat down at one near a small radio that was faintly playing Party in the USA by Miley Cyrus. Across the way was a whiteboard with the weekly specials. Today’s special was “Chicken or Shrimp Alfredo, broccoli, garlic toast, soup, dessert” and it sounded like just the thing to get me into the small-town mindset.

As I looked away from the classy whiteboard/specials board, confident I’d made the right choice, I saw the handsome server strolling over to my table with water in one hand and some silverware in the other. 

“Hi, I’m Chad. Sorry again about earlier. I’m the only one here and we usually don’t get customers between the lunch and dinner rushes,” he said, kneeling down next to me so his eyes could meet mine. And what eyes they were. Two bright blue pools sparkled through the dimly lit cafe/bar as if they were the only thing emitting any form of luminescence in the whole room. 

I was so lost in his eyes that I almost forgot to respond. Catching myself, I managed to sputter out something like, “oh don’t worry about it! I’m new in town and just wanted to try out the local fare.”

“New, eh,” he says as he sets down the contents of his worn, calloused hands. “You the one taking that mechanic gig for the railroad,” he asks, pushing his hair out of his face with his hand. “They’ve been trying to fill that position forever.”

“Really,” I question, groping for the silverware that Chad had just set down. I needed something to fiddle with, and the fork would do nicely in this situation. “That seems like such a great job. I figured people would be clamoring for it. “Actually, now that you mention it, I thought the same about the house I just bought, but the Zillow agent said there weren’t any other potential buyers.”

“You mean the one out on Myrtle Street,” he inquires, furrowing his brow a bit, which makes the slight coating of sweat that covered it glisten like his eyes.

“The very same! I just started moving in.”

“I thought they’d never sell that place. You’re a better man than I. It’s gonna take a whole lot of elbow grease to clean that place up.”

This sort of makes my heart sink. I try to perk up reminding myself of the feeling I had as I walked through my new house for the first time. “Sure, it’s rough…but livable. I’ll make it work,” I finally respond.

Chad chuckles a bit and stands up, as my stomach fills with butterflies. “If you say so,” he responds as he pulls up a pen and notepad. “Anyways, what can I get you?”

“I think the special will be the perfect fuel for all that ‘elbow grease I’ll be expending later today,” I confidently announce. 

Chad nods and replies, “it sure will,” before he heads back to the kitchen. 

He returned a few minutes later with a plate covered with a heaping helping of noodles and chicken, plus all the sides. I thank him and watch as he walks away, before remembering just how famished I am and dig in.

The moment I take my last bite and put my fork down, Chad returns with the check. I hand him my credit card and he disappears again without saying anything before returning once more to return my card. His voice cuts the silence between us when he comes back, “you know, I was thinking, since you’ve got so much work ahead of you with that house, you might need some help.” He gives me back my card with the receipt as he continues, “I don’t work tomorrow, so I could stop by tonight after I’m off to help you get started.” 

My heart jump starts itself into my chest, trying to leave my throat as my mouth dries immediately. He wants to come over? T-t-t-tonight? I look at the receipt on the table, taking it and breaking eye contact. Be cool I tell myself, forced to reassure myself again. Refusing to take a deep breath as I fake a steeled facade.

“That would be great! Thank you so much, Chad!”

“Perfect. I’ll be by around 8.”

“It’s a date! I–er–well, not like a date date, but…” I try to look at the door. “You know what I mean,” I shrug as I refuse to look at what could be Chad’s potential look of confusion, regret, or pity. I force a laugh to ease the situation, mostly for myself. 

“Oh. I think I do know what you mean. See you tonight,” he cooly responds, making my hands feel cold and prickly, a sensation I feel from my chest across my arms, making my shoulders reach the lobes of my ears as I get up and promptly leave the cafe, refusing to look back and stopping just after the door, making sure it closes behind me and looking to hear laughter or sighing behind me. 

I spent the rest of the afternoon unpacking and trying to make my new place somewhat livable, with little success. But before I knew it, it was 8:03 and my doorbell was ringing.

I open the door to find Chad in a different, yet familiar, form than I knew him from earlier today. While his server outfit was a dark polo tucked into blue jeans accessorized with a cream-colored half apron with stains, pockets filled to the brim with notepads, pens, and extra change. This new nighttime variant sported a sleeveless white Miller teeshirt, that he’d clearly torn the sleeves off of himself, still tucked into those same blue jeans and a mesh-backed baseball cap with a bottle opener under the brim. He was holding a can of paint and some brushes, causing his exposed arm muscles to flex a bit.

“I hope I’m not being too forward, but I know what always makes me feel more at home in a new place is a fresh coat of paint, and I took the liberty of picking out a color I thought you would like,” he said motioning to the painting supplies in his grasp.

“Oh! That’s so exciting,” I reply as I feel my shoulders creep up again. “What color?”

He laughs. “Well, everyone in town knows this house for that green color outside. So I thought to myself, ‘let’s make the inside match the outside.’”

“Oh my god! What a fun idea,” I reply, “let’s do it!”

We quickly get set up to start painting, but the whole time all I can think is “I’ve never painted a day in my life.”

As we get started, I try to watch what Chad does and mimic to the best of my ability, pressing the roller brush against the wall, his shoulders tensing, for reasons different than mine, releasing a breath with each upper stroke. I watch the unsteady and jagged streaks appear as I roll and lift–I’m clearly doing a bad job, because shortly after we begin, I can feel the heat of Chad’s presence behind me, sending a jolt of excitement down my spine. 

“No, no,” he says as he grabs my brush hand within his own, “like this.”

He starts guiding my hand–and therefore my brush–up and down the wall, creating a nice smooth distribution of paint on my unfinished wall, but that’s the last thing on my mind at the moment.

I feel the pressure he puts on my hand. His strong grip makes me tense up, but also puts me at ease…assuring my safety in a way. It’s the perfect combination. I slowly push back to feel more of his body on mine. From our hands, down our arms, then my shoulder on his chest, until my back is right against what I can feel are pretty solid abs. I’m overwhelmed by the sensation of his muscles against my own. Then, I feel something rough–but livable–on my neck. It’s his stubble. We’re now close enough that I can feel his warm breath on my ear. At this point, I’ve let the paintbrush fall to the floor. I’m not sure when it happened, but I know it happened because my hand is now intertwined with his. Our fingers are tightly laced as he pulls me even closer to him. As I slowly turn my head towards Chad’s my mind travels back to how hard it was to find an affordable place to live in the city. I’d always rent because I could never afford to buy. There is no ‘housing crisis’, not for me, not anymore. Because I’d found myself a home, right here in Chad’s arms, and the two things I wouldn’t be lacking tonight were imagination and flexibility.

I slowly turn to face Chad as we begin kissing passionately. Our lips are interlocked for what feels like both an eternity and like no time at all. When our lips finally disengage, we stare into each other’s eyes and he asks, “so what do you think of your new life?”

I think for a moment, then chuckle as I respond, “it’s rough, but livable,” as we begin kissing again and slide down to the unfinished floor below.

THE WORLD IS YOUR BURRITO!

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