Morgan’s New Room
The video doorbell watched as he pushed the button, aware he was being recorded. He felt a little uneasy coming to the front door, but that was his instructions. Yesterday, he had entered through the side.
He stepped back, enjoying the shade of the broad Georgian porch and the breeze teasing his hands and face. After his last job fiasco, he felt fortunate to have found a full-time position as a home health aide. With room and board! The elderly man, Ty Whittaker, took a shine to him the day before and hired him on the spot.
Morgan pulled on his starched cuffs and glanced down at his brightly shined brogues. His draped no-iron pants fluttered slightly. The door opened. Mrs. Walz, the live-in cook and light housekeeper, studied him for a moment. “Mr. Morgan, it’s good to see you again.”
Morgan eyed the flour on her flowered apron, chuckling silently as she stood aside. He lifted his second-hand suitcase, which held all his earthly belongings, and stepped into the entry hall. He studied the vaulted ceiling of the huge living room and the exquisite, tiled fireplace—its massive brass screen covered with cut-out shapes of exotic animals. Two leather sofas sat at opposite sides of the room, flanked by matching chairs and antique Duncan Fife coffee and side tables. He looked beyond the room through tall, narrow windows that framed the garden and poplar trees bespeckled in gold. He imagined the foliage glowing at sunset.
“Mr. Whittaker is napping and will see you at two. Let me show you to your room, Mr. Morgan.” Mrs. Walz led him down a shelved utility corridor to his new domicile. After she left and closed the door, he sat on the double bed. Comfortable. He rubbed the brocade bedspread fabric between his thumb and fingers before turning down the covers. Smooth, quality sheets. He eyed the down comforter on a straight-back chair, the old photos on the wall, and the tall cherry chest of drawers. He threw his bag on the bed, opened it, and hung a few items in the closet while enjoying the aroma of the cedar lining. He lingered for a moment before arranging his shirts, socks, and underwear in the chest of drawers, also smelling of cedar.
Morgan had said goodbye to the roommates he barely knew, knowing his mail would continue arriving at his P.O. Box. “Not bad digs,” he said aloud. He brushed his hand against the hard plaster wall, then briefly played with the TV remote. “So, this is how the rich live.” Even though his room wasn’t nearly as elegant as the rest of the house, he smiled at his good fortune. “And I live here, too.”
