Twisted Roots (DeBeers 3)

"I don't, but for some reason, I've lost interest."

"That's just temporary. You're going through something. You'll snap out of it."

"Yes. Dr. Reynolds." I said, and he laughed.

"Sorry," he said. "I'm no one to give anyone advice. That's for sure."

"Now who sounds like he's cornered the market on suffering," I said.

He raised his eyebrows. "Wow. You're tougher than I imagined."

I smiled to myself, thinking, finally a compliment I really appreciate.

-Here it is." he said, nodding at a duplex. "Joya del street."

"Very funny," I said. Actually, I was flattered he knew so much about me already. Obviously. I had been in his line of sight for some time. Was I simply oblivious or was he that good at hiding his intentions?

Before we reached the front door, it flew open and Heyden's sister came charging out. She was almost as tall and lean as he was, but with a darker complexion, short licorice black hair, and what were at the moment blazing coal black eyes.

"You were in my room again!" she screamed at Heyden, stepping right up to him and putting her face into his. "You went through my things again and you took it You're not my father! You have no right to do that!"

"You shouldn't be playing with that stuff?" Heyden yelled back. "And you certainly shouldn't be bringing it into the house."

"I hate you!" she cried, barely taking note of my presence. "I wish you weren't my brother."

"That makes two of us." he said.

"You'll be sorry soon," she threatened, and then she smiled so coldly, it even put a chill in my body. "You'll see," she added and charged past us.

"Elisha!" he screamed after her. She just kept going, her head dawn, her arms tightly crossed tinder her small breasts, crossing the street and gone before he could call out to her again.

"Damn," Heyden muttered. He looked at the front entrance. "Better go inside," he said. "I have a bad feeling,"

It was a small apartment, the living room being the biggest roam, the kitchen not much bigger than our pantry closet. The furniture looked ten years past its retirement, and the rug was worn thin enough to see the wood floor beneath it in the living room. Some dirty dishes were piled next to the sink, and a partially filled coffee cup with what looked to be morning cof

fee was on the small yellowish table.

"Elisha didn't do her chores again. My mother is still at work," he said. She takes as much overtime as she can get."

"What does she do?" "She's a chambermaid at the Breakers, so we have a lot of hotel soap." he added bitterly.

He walked slowly through the kitchen to the hallway and paused at an open door. I saw him bring his hand to his forehead and then lean against the doorjamb.

"Damn her to hell." he said. "What?"

"Look for yourself."

Slowly I stepped up beside him. There, smashed to pieces on the floor of his bedroom, was his guitar.

3

Parental Concern

.

With his guitar broken. Heyden was unable to

play and sing his song. I offered to listen to it anyway or at least read the lyrics, but he was too despondent. "It won't be the same. Another time," he said, picking up the pieces.