Generation 1 Chapter 1: Amani Vista

The house wasn’t much, but it didn’t really matter. I was just grateful to have a clean, bacteria free place to rest my head at night. The place wasn’t faultless though, that’s for sure. Dust lined every corner and crevice throughout the home and the bathroom and kitchen were in desperate need of some scrubbing. Which is to be expected, the place hasn’t been used in eighteen years.

I scurried into the kitchen and found a note on the counter from my parents. It explained how they organized a job interview for me at the local Business tower, and how they doubted they would bother hiring a mechanical, freak of nature but decided it was still worth a shot. My interview was scheduled for noon, which was in half an hour, so I washed my hands a few times and then set off to hail taxi.   

“Seriously though, you’re exactly what we’re looking for! You’ll be a great addition to our family!” Albany squealed.

“Family?” I interrogated.   

“Of course, Silly! There’s only a few of us on our floor so we’re a close knit bunch. You’ll fit right in, I’m sure of it!”

“I don’t know, Ms. Hampton…”  

“Dear Berry! Don’t ever call me that again! Like I said, we’re family. Call me Albany! And what aren’t you sure about? You’ll fit right in here!”

“If it’s anything like school was, I’m bound to be an outcast. Not to mention I was just diagnosed with OCD…”

“And?”

“That’s not weird?”

“Amani, it’s not like you chose to be an Obsessive-Compulsive. It sort of just… happened. I guess it’s like cancer. No one really wants it, but people get it.”  

I was silent, my mind processing Albany’s explanation of my disorder. Albany was growing increasingly uncomfortable, shifting her weight and playing with her fingers. I barely noticed, still imagining things like the way she said they were. Is everyone really just as sweet and understanding as her?

In an attempt to break the awkwardness Albany chirped, “I love your top!”

“Thanks,” I smiled.

Albany wasn’t convinced. “Sweetie, I promise, I’ll personally make sure that you have a great time here in Barnacle Bay.”  

After eating dinner, I spent the remainder of my evening winding down and relaxing. I heavily enjoy the arts, so I spent my free time sculpting and playing my guitar. It was nice to be a peace, especially the night before my first day of work.

After work the next day (which went extremely well, I might add), I took a trip down to the local laundry mat to take care of some putrid clothing I found in the closet the previous night. It was a cute, little place with barely anyone there, so I had no problem finding an open washing machine. I gently placed the clothes in the machine, poured in some softener and set the machine to the appropriate settings. To help pass the time I began mentally recounting today’s sales for what must have been the tenth time, making sure the total was exact and far from error.

“Excuse me, Miss?” a husky voice inquired, interruption my accounting.

“Yes?”

“You don’t happen to have any fabric softener I can borrow, do you? I normally come prepared, but it looks like my dog poked a hole in my bottle…” He held up a bottle of softener and pointed to two small penetrations, then tipped it upside down to indicate it was empty.

I contemplated whether I should let a stranger (who could potentially be dying of a contagious disease, for all I know!) use my laundry essentials. Eh, what the heck. “Sure. Here you go.” 
 

A few moments later he was back with the bottle, “Thanks. I appreciate it…”

“Amani.”

“Thank you, Amani. I’m Brock Hannan. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” I agreed.

“So, how long have you lived here? I’m a local, been here since I was a kid, and I don’t recognize your face.”

“Actually, I just moved here yesterday.”

“Oh, really? So how are you liking the city so far?”  

And it went on like that for a few hours, even after both of our loads were washed and dried. I was so relaxed talking to him; he was such a great listener and tried his best to understand what I was going through with my parents shunning me. When I ran out of things to say, he’d find another way to spark the conversation up again. But when I glanced at my watch and noted that it was ten, I knew I couldn’t keep talking like this forever.

“I had a really nice time talking with you tonight, Brock,” I confessed.

“Here, put your number in my phone. We’ll be sure to hang out again sometime.” We swapped phones and exchanged numbers, then said our goodbyes.

Brock seemed like he would make great friend material, but I don’t think I can see the two of us as an item. Either way, I’m pretty sure I walked out of that laundry mat with a friend.