Niel Allen 4

At this I was consumed with guilt. Mr Allen's light spirit did make the awkward silence more bearable. I just could not stop thinking about the possibility that his wife might have actually died. If she had, I could understand Mr Allen's sensitivity to my mentioning of and interrogating about his wife. This awkward silence seemed to last awhile; even though it couldn't have been more than a few minutes. "Should I apologize?" I wondered. I'm pretty sure I seriously offended him, out of ignorance. Well, if I am ignorant of the situation at hand, I have no need to apologize. Even after I established the fact that I had no need to apologize, I still highly considered it an option. I should apologize just to be courteous and let him know that I had no intention of upsetting him. "What should I do?" I fought myself for a few more long, awkward minutes of silence. Just as soon as I would consider apologizing, my vocal chords would produce no sound. My mouth remained closed, letting no words escape, even a simple apology. In this awkward silence, I tried to find things to do(besides sitting in silent subjection). I swept my hair out of my face, made sure the buttons on my sweater were indeed buttoned, and straightened my striped skirt. I could bear the silence no longer; I could bear the guilt no longer. I must say something. I mustered up the courage to finally say sorry for inadvertently upsetting Niel Allen. As soon as the first vibration of sound escaped my mouth, Mr Allen interrupted. "I would like some tea now." I was utterly relieved that he finally said something. Mow I was all too eager to attend to his needs, in contrast to my attitude about getting him a cup of tea earlier. I quickly jumped to my feet, then remembered the fragile state of his house. I could have fallen through the floor boards. "How would you like your tea, Mr Allen?" "One teaspoon creamer and one cube of sugar." "Okay. That sounds pretty simple." I walked into the kitchen and searched for the tea. I couldn't find it anywhere. "Mr Allen, where do you keep your tea?" "Oh, I'm sorry, child. I've forgotten you haven't been in this house before...well, not for awhile at least." "What do you mean, Mr Allen?" "Well, when you were much younger, your mom would bring you with her when she came. Oh! how I loved you. You were such a cheerful baby with such a cute laugh. This whole cabin lit up when you and your mom were here...I guess it always has and it still does...but you probably don't remember that, do you?" "No, sir. I don't." "I'm sure your mom has some pictures. You'll have to ask her to see them sometime. Man, you were cute.....For lands' sake, I cannot seem to remember where I put my tea! I have every single day, you'd think I'd be able to remember where I put it," Mr Allen continued, opening every cupboard and drawer, searching intently. Up until this time, I had considered Mr Allen very smart, with a sharp mind. And Mother had always spoken of him as a very intelligent man; but to not recall where he had put his tea, that he supposedly has every day, greatly astounded me. Mother's voice echoed in my head, "You'll understand when you get older," she would have said. Oh! I'm sure I'll understand when I'm older....much older! Mr Allen moved everything off the counter tops; took every cup and plate and bowl our of the cupboard; and after much banging and clanking, he managed to get every pot and pan out of the cabinet. There was still not sight of the tea when he had reached the last cupboard. "This here is where Ginny kept all of her special dishes. She'd bring them out on Christmas, Thanksgiving, Easter, birthdays, and anniversaries. I doubt the tea would be in here. She never let me in this cupboard for fear I would accidentally break her precious china; but she had every reason to fear. She inherited the china from her great-grandmother who came over from a Russian orphanage. This china was so special to Ginny. I remember one Christmas dinner past. We had just finished eating and I was helping Ginny clear off the table. I picked up my plate and placed my bowl on top of it; somehow, the bowl slid off the plate, crashing to the floor! It shattered into a million different pieces. Ginny didn't say anything, but I could tell she was upset. Every "special" occasion after that, I never got a china bowl, we simply did not have enough. I swore to her that I would try to find a china set like hers and buy the bowl, or the whole set! "That way I could break at least one of everything and still have a replacement," Ginny used to say. We always laughed so much when Ginny was around. Boy, did she ever have a way to make people smile." Mr Allen looked back at the cupboard that kept the precious pieces of china and obviously some very precious memories. "Hmm, that's interesting. I never remember a lock on that cupboard. Ginny was protective of that china, but not that protective. Well, I'll be darned, I cannot think of what the combination could be. For Pete's sake, the old man just wants his tea!" Niel Allen chuckled. He stood there, staring at the lock, as though it would unlock itself the longer he stared at it. The lock looked fairly old and rusted; but definitely not as old and rusted as some of Mr Allen's other belongings. The cabinet had two separate handles and two separate doors which opened from the middle. The rather small simple lock help the 2 handles together. The doors did still open a piece, but not enough to retrieve anything from the cabinet. Mr Allen still stood, staring. He brought he shaky hand up to touch the lock. He stared at the lock a little while longer. He turned the lock over and stared. He let his eye glasses slide to the tip of his nose, bending over to catch a closer glimpse at the lock.Hhis stance now upright, eyeglasses pushed back up on the bridge of his nose, he turned the knob of the lock. He turned it right 4, right 16, left 6, left 5.