Tretrus Valley CH 1 part1

With A foul taste in his mouth and a crusted eye, Christian rolled onto his back snatching off the gray, goose down comforter. The sunlight leaking through his Venetian blinds suggested his first nights sleep, in his new bed, in his new home, was finally at an end. Calling it  “a night’s sleep”  in fact, was an outright lie. There had not been much sleeping in that big room. Before finding himself in such a large new home, a mansion in his mind, Christian had thought a large house would be a little more quiet. And during the daylight hours, it was just that; quiet. A disturbing and desperate silence that somehow rang in his ears. But once the grogginess of twilight smoothed into a still darkness, restlessness seemed to almost possess Le’Strange Manor. That was Christian’s last name, Le’Strange. His father refused to speak of his French heritage, and Christian never bothered to press the issue.  But now it was too late, and the familiar night cloud of uneasiness hanging over his home, was the only thing left of his father. It was a strange feeling, slightly remembering his fathers disturbing aura Christian hadn't really noticed when his father was alive.

Swinging both brown legs over the edge of his bed, Christian rubbed his eyes vigorously while stretching his mouth for a yawn. EWWW, he thought, smelling his own morning breath that hung in the air in front of his face. Scratching the scalp between two of his cornrowed braids, he look back at his pillow longingly. It would have been nice to roll back under those fluffy warm covers, but a new school awaited him today and he would not be late. So instead he gingerly rose to his feet, joints popping and cracking as he stretched. He made his way to the bathroom quickly stepping across the cold hardwood floor of his new bedroom and hallway. With one leg in the bathroom, he paused. He could have sworn there was a woman standing at the end of the hall. It could have been his mother, maybe even his Grandmother. No, Grandma is too old for all of those stairs.  No, his mind was just playing tricks on him that’s all, remnants of a morning dream.  Carpeting, that is what this house needed. They could afford to carpet this mansion, with all of the money left by his father. But who would have to vacuum all of theses long hallways and large room floors? And of course all of the staircases would also need cleaning. Maybe carpeting was not the answer; in fact slippers would be a Godsend.

Stepping out of his underwear he reached for his towel. Once cleaned, to his particular satisfaction, he stood watching his foggy mahogony reflection, bare to the waist donning only his bath towel.

That woman by the stairs wore no shoes. Stop that, Man! Seriously, why would a white woman just stand around in your second floor hallway? He paused again, mouth frothy with toothpaste; he pointed a foamy toothbrush at his own reflection in oversized bathroom mirror. She was white, wasn’t she? He assured himself his recollection was correct then began methodically scrubbing his body. While doing so, other specifics about the woman bubble to the front of his mind. Dark hair, no, black. Yes, jet black hair. He finally spit the toothpaste from his mouth. White gown, like a nightgown kind of thing; but it had a small spattering of black. No, dark red. Could it have been blood?
         
“Christian.”

His chest tightened then relaxed as he realized his mother stood behind him at the bathroom door. The shock of her presence was jolting, Christian’s heart thundered in his chest and he slowly sank to the edge of his black tiled shower.

“Boy what’s the matter with you?” she asked concernedly.

“You scared me!” he shrieked, accusingly.

“Boy, who the hell are you yelling at?” Hands planted firmly on her ample hips, his mother glared at him. She was not a large woman, standing a whole foot shorter than he, but she somehow towered over him in her white terry clothe robe. She was a pretty woman even when angry. She had an even mahogany complexion and long black straightened hair. But her eyes had narrowed and nostrils began to flare. These were not good signs. Christian looked down at his feet, and then hurriedly closed his bath towel and his legs.

“ I… I ain’t yelling I was just saying... dang, Ma.” He began to laugh easing the tension. Standing to his feet and tightening his towel, he made a mental note to keep his bathroom door closed.

“Well watch your mouth. And stop all that fussing with the towel. You don’t have anything I ain’t seen before.”

“MA!?”

“What, its true, I use to wash that little thing.” She chortled.

“Ma!?” he exclaimed even louder, now moving closer to the door. They struggled as he tried to close his mother out of the bathroom. They both laughed once he finally locked her out.

“Christian, this is your first day of school so don’t be late. I laid your uniform out in your room on the bed. And don’t wrinkle them. You want to make a good impression.” That last command was a distant yell. She was probably over towards the staircase. Maybe that was her earlier, standing by the stairs in a white bath robe. She must have darted back down the stairs before he turned to look in her direction. That must have been it.

“If I wanted to make a good impression I’d wear my own clothes.” He mumbled to himself just loud enough to feel challenging, but quiet enough not to be heard.

“I heard that.”

He frowned looking in the direction of her voice, then sucked air through his teeth, making a slight smacking noise.

“And stop smacking your teeth at me boy, before I comeback up there and smack you into next week.”

It was amazing the way mothers could hear things from a mile away. And why was always threatening him with bodily harm followed by a rift in time and space?

Dressed in his new school uniform Christian darted down the curving staircase and slid across the black and white tiled foyer dirtying his new, white sox. The house was tremendous but in dyer need of a good cleaning. Cob webs lined the great domed ceiling of the foyer and dressed every corner in the house.  There were some door and hallways covered in webs which Christian hadn’t cleaned yet. In fact there were many parts of the house Christian hadn’t even seen.

“Uh uh!” his mother exclaimed as he stood in front of the large oak dining room table flourishing the black blazer of his new private school uniform. She pointed at the white sox. “Where are the black sox I laid out for you?”

“I don’t like black sox Mama, and besides, nobody can see them.” Breaking his pose, he stuck out a leg while scratching it. Well, one could hardly see the blaring white between his pants and his shoes. Rolling her eyes, his mother went back to her plate while his grandmother gushed over how handsome he looked in his new outfit. She was a darker skinned old woman with kindly face and sweet disposition. But she would not hesitate to smack you in the back of your head if you said something she didn’t like. At that moment she simply beamed at him, her long silver hair shining, in a braid lain between her shoulder blades.

His mother and grandmother sat together at the head of the shiny waxed table. It seemed strange for three people to live in such a large home. Even stranger, was the fact that his father had grown up in this house and never mentioned a word of his fortune or his home city. Christian did not like to think of his late father, so he sat behind a large plate of bacon, biscuits, and eggs. He ate hardily, shoveling bacon and eggs onto his biscuit and jamming it all into his mouth. His mother and grandmother eyed him wearily, not for his intense eating habits; they had grown use to those years ago.

“What?” Christian mumbled worriedly, looking back and forth between the two women sitting across from him, egg falling from his lips.

“Why you scratching like that, baby?” the older woman asked. Christian looked down at his right hand raking his left arm, and then forced it to stop.

“I don’t know grandma; I’ve been itching ever since we got here. And I can’t find my lotion. I took it out of my bag and I haven’t seen it since.”

“Great.” His mother dropped her spoon and sat back in her chair. “My son’s first day in this prestigious new school, and going in with white sox and ashy arms.” Christian almost choked on his orange juice. Hearty laughter shattered the quiet as they all doubled over slapping knees and table. The rest of breakfast was pleasurable, the eeriness had lifted and the big old house began to feel like home.

Christian grabbed his new brown leather satchel, and kissed the two ladies still seated at the table. He waived his goodbyes catching snatches of their conversation as he moved back into the foyer. On his way to the front door he heard his grandmother speaking and paused.

“…I just don’t like it. It never seems to wash out, my hair still feels oily. Don’t ever buy that kind of conditioner again...”

“Grandma!” Christian sang loudly, but with an air of amusement in his voice. “You’ve been washing your hair with my lotion.” He yelled at his grandmother, mock anger framing his voice.  Normally yelling at your elders would result in a beating followed by death threats and then an apology for the threats. But this time, to Christians great amusement, the only response was his wide-eyed grandmother’s bier feet quickly swishing across the tiled floor, holding her hair and gasping something about needing a new prescription.