Niel Allen

At least the sun was shining. This indeed was the only positive thing I could conjure up. I walked the windy, rocky, uneven road to Niel Allen's cabin, hidden deep in the cool forest. The bird's singing irritated me for once. I had always loved the bird's songs, but now, I despised it. How can they sing a joyful song? Do they even know why I'm walking on this secluded pathway to nowhere? "Stupid birds," I thought. They don't have a care in the world. "This is taking FOREVER!" I mumbled to myself. Mom never let on that this stupid road was this long. I would rather still be in school, increasing in knowledge. But no, my mother wanted me to do this. I know I'm not going to gain a thing from doing this. What does she know anyway? I found myself quite resentful of the fact that she had chosen me to do this. I was angry with her, ready to scream. I had already determined that this was going to be horrible. No one could sway my thinking.
....
With hurting feet and a heavy shoulder, I arrived at the cabin. Mother had always spoken of it delightfully, as if it were the quaintest cabin in the world; but I found the opposite to be true. The now mossy handrail had fallen; the steps were slanted and crooked; floor boards of the porch were missing; green plants inundated the shack; the outside walls were less than sturdy; a few bricks from the chimney now lie on the forest floor. I had hoped to peer inside, curious about the condition, but the windows were frosted, almost opaque. I gave a light tap at the door, fearing it might un-attach from the rusty hinges: no answer. I tapped a piece harder this time: no answer. Harder still: no answer. At this, I felt as though I was banging on the door; it creaked open. Was I suppose to just walk in? You never know what grumpy, old people will do to you. "Mr Allen? are you here?....Mr Allen?" I said as I peaked my head inside, my hand on the splintered door, as if to hold it up. "Mr Allen?" I said again, frustration in my voice. I the heard a faint voice. "Yes, dear. Come in." I saw the figure of a decrepit man sitting on a hard chair. "This man is just as decrepit as his house!" I thought to myself, chuckling aloud faintly. Niel Allen noticed the grin on my plump, youthful face. "It's nice to see a smiling face around here...you're just like your mother." If only he knew what I was grinning about..stupid old man. I turned my head his way. "I don't think I'm too much like my mother." I was trying to say that as politely as I could; I was so peeved with my mother that I could not stand to be likened to her. There was a long pause; I wasn't quite sure what I should do. His mouth remain agape, as if to say something at any moment; however, he would let no words escape. He must be deep in thought. Or maybe he realized that I was right. I thought old people were supposed to be smart and know what to say, but apparently they're not all that way. "I think....." he just stopped mid-sentence, mouth still open. This is going to be irritating. And I have to stay with him all day! What a grand time I'll have! My feet were tired from the walk to his cabin, but he had not offered me a seat, not that I would have wanted to sit on his furniture anyway. His whole cabin could cave-in at any moment! I couldn't stand to live in such fear. His pushed his dirty, scratched glasses further up on his wrinkled nose with his skinny index finger. "...you're more like your mother than you care to realize...you're here for a reason." He closed his mouth. How could he make these assumptions about me? He doesn't even know who I am! Deep down inside, I knew he was right though, whether I wanted to admit it or not. He held his hand out in the direction of a tattered, worn couch without even saying a word. I closed the creaky door behind me and tiptoed over to the couch. This couch must be an antique! The couch was in dire need of being re-upholstered. As I sat down, a plume of dust rose up around me. I sneezed and looked up at Mr Allen, expecting him to say "bless you" at any moment. Mr Allen never did. He kept quiet. He didn't say anything for quite some time. He never even formally asked for my name, although I'm sure he knew it. Mr Allen struck me as a very pensive gentleman, even to the point of annoyance. I looked around his tiny cabin. There were pictures everywhere! Some of them too old to even decipher. It was musty in his shack; I felt as though I needed some fresh air. "Do you want a cup of coffee or tea, Mr Allen?" I asked, not because I actually cared, but because I wanted to open the kitchen window. He looked me right in the eye, not saying a word. I raised my eyebrow, waiting for an answer. It's a simple yes-or-no question. Why doesn't he just answer? At times his quietness was intimidating, but as of right now, it was an irritation. I opened my mouth, about to ask him again. "Mr Allen, do you want--" "CHILD! you must learn to silence yourself sometimes. You need to learn to wait for an answer. Not everything has to be answered now," Mr Allen said in a stern voice. I hadn't even been here for 2 hours and I had already upset the man. "Great Going, Jocelyn," I said to myself. He looked away from me, as if displeased by the sight of me. He never answered my question either. This is definitely frustrating. And how dare he put me down like that. I'm a patient person, he's the one that's slow. We both sat there with nothing to say. I had brought some things with me to do, but I felt that any sudden movement or sound would be unnecessary.
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