Malcolm Barnhouse
Even though he was approaching 90 years old, Malcolm Barnhouse didn’t have any wrinkles on his face. His lips formed a straight line, and his nose looked like a red button. His face was long and thin, and the unblemished skin was taut. It was almost as if he was wearing a mask, like the Phantom of the Opera. His blank expression rarely changed, regardless of the situation. Actually, one thing that did change was the area around his eyes. When he was concerned about something, he would look up slightly and to the left, furrowing his eyebrows. One day, Malcolm heard a knock on his front door. He wheeled himself to the living room to see who it was and peeked through the curtains. “Mr. Barnhouse? Are you Mr. Barnhouse?” “Yes?” “May we come in?” Malcolm squinted to see who “we” was. A woman and a man were standing at the door with clipboards. “Clipboards,” he thought. “That’s trouble.” “What do you want?” he yelled to the strangers. “Well, Mr. Barnhouse, we are from the insurance company. Since your house is insured with us, you are hereby mandated to purchase a new roof. We can no longer insure your house with this roof.” |
The woman and the man stood in the doorway, waiting for a response. Sitting in his wheelchair, Malcolm displayed his usual blank expression, straight-across lips, and furrowed brow, and his blood began to boil. “May we come in?” they repeated politely. “No, you may not!” he shouted at the closed door. “I cannot afford a new roof. I am an old man, and I live alone. This roof will outlive me!” “Well, Mr. Barnhouse … we’ve tried to reach you several times by e-mail, regular mail, and phone, so this was our last attempt to connect with you.” “My wife used to do all the connecting for the both of us, but now I don’t do any of it. I’m just trying to get by with what I’ve got in the time I have left.” Malcolm heard the woman and the man ask each other what to do. Finally, Malcolm saw their business card appear under the door. He didn’t know what was going to happen about the roof, but he really didn’t care. The roof would be added to a long list of things he avoided since his wife died. She had always meant to teach him how to manage their affairs, but that day never came. Through the curtains, Malcolm watched the clipboard couple walk away. He wheeled himself in front of the television and ate the cold sandwich that he had made a couple of hours before. He glanced at the mirror across the room and saw his reflection. “Old, grumpy man in a wheelchair,” he mumbled. “Yep. My wife was right about me after all.” From Carpet Creatures: Tales from the Deep Pile To join the Carpet Creatures project, please visit our TAE Gallery website. |
