Page 19 of Eyes Like Angel
“We should try knocking onto their doors and insisted on them coming to the Sunday Mass,” Sister Julia insisted.
Her instructions were the same, every day and every year.I wonder if she gets tired of doing this, too?
I nodded listlessly, and went over to one of the doors, and knocked.
Behind the door, it was Emily. Emily Curtis. One of the nuns who served the Lord every Sunday, clad in her mini tank top and sports shorts. Her sandy-blonde hair was a mess. But she’s meticulous with her appearance.
“Can I help you,” she said, almost bored.
Her dark eyes dartedand judgeon my form.
“Emily,” I said, smiling ever so sweetly despite my tired form. I handed her the flyer. “Come to the church.”
She snatched the flyer in one swoop and crumpled in her fingers. “I’m a nun, Sister. I go there every Sunday.”
“I know. I just want to—”
In her sickly sweet smile, she said, “I’m busy.”
She slammed the door on my face.
Sighing, I trudged back on a main block; another flyer to distribute before giving my report.
6
Adrian
“Where in the fuck have you been? You’re late! Way past late!”
The night was long, and a terrible dread came.
I got caught dead in daylight.
One minute ago, I stumbled at the grand set of white gateway doors, almost bloomed like the pearly gates of heaven; I pressed the asterisk button and entered the unlocked gates with ease, and stepping in next on the grand marble staircases, around swerving my sports car around a glorious old-fashioned fountain. Not one minute in, my mom was already yapping her ass off through the foyer, caffeine intake was kicking my ass preventing from a near car accident, and Mom’s words were making no sense, each word punching a hole on my skull.
Here in thislovelyresidence, here lies the aristocratic, sophisticated Rivers family, in a total of four. We weren’t the only ones who live in a rural town. The rest of the Rivers family are currently living in chateau in a country side, some live in penthouses and some resided in gated communities and some live by the open water as if vacation never left.
To top it all off, we lived by a slopped hill above the rest, with a roadway slope behind the guarded gates, leading up to a house—grass were freshly cut.
In other words, we never ran out of money, refill after refill, and did everything we can to survive. Flaunt the reputation, more like. Dad’s a well-known business man, flit one thing to another, whichever business he’s interested in, stick into business where it doesn’t belong and yap his way in for whatever interests and incomes he could receive from his well-patron clients. Rivers family took their pride and money to a highly consideration, too, cautious on how to spend on who, where and what.
He received from his last job, in an estimation of $98,000 dollars per month or week, being the CEO of the company; Dad decided to ship the belongings and move here at a large town area in, a stark contrast from a crowded, bright-lighted resorted city—hopping into the plane and skipped two states. Mom never had an opinion, she stayed hollow on the outside, and Bjorn was minding his own personal bubble as a stuck up goody-goody, but is a great helper to Dad—or a great servant, butler, whichever Bjorn is—neither contradict nor in agreement.
Whatever Dad’s reason behind this were either his intentions were to retire early or he likes to play the hero before his retirement—probably both, I can’t be certain to his intentions—it’s been a mixed signal or narrative.
A welcoming atmosphere hasn’t felt since the day we departed the sunny side in Los Angeles—from a perfect climate and night lights in Los Angeles and all its beauty. Beverly Hills was a quintessential of paradise until Dad was replicating it here when we moved.
Nothing interesting to go for except for little stores I never knew, not a well-known brand likeTargetorCostco, and attractions in the middle of an unpredictable weather on a wildlife—endless resources and shopping districts and attractions—but nothing came close to form a replicated perfect paradise close surrounded by the forest, trees and bugs, and not a sign of suburban city known for casinos, glamourous hotels and over-the-top entertainment.
God, what a pain.
My grandmother wouldn’t approve of this, of living in a place where it lacks life, loudness and vibrancy and endless possibility of exploration. California is the closest thing toperfection, aside the famous Sin City and known habits for smoking in casinos, extensional options in resorts and slot machines, but California was entirely distinct—sandy beaches, natural landscapes blending in resorts and penthouses, night lights in the city and possibilities in opportunities and pure money talks.
She’ll disapprove of the nippy climate, surrounded in wildlife and lesser opportunities—she assumed the worst, as she often does. I also missed the littered areas in the casino, smokers littering the streets and suburban life and coastal beach.
In Fort Heaven, there were no luxurious resorts only one beach, but it’s not Riviera, though the clean water in Fort Heaven sounded nice since Fort Heaven is known for its river-flowing section. Sooner or later, Dad might be planning on extending his business here, a large resort. Also, the large town is known for rainy days.
I sighed, shutting the door, and faced the opposite direction instead of directing eye contact towards my mother.
