A Chill from my Closet

I like the house that I live in, but I found a peculiar thing earlier. I felt this chill reaching out to me from the front door closet. When I entered there, it was freezing. Like my breath was showing, and it was the coldest place I’ve been in since Wisconsin in February. I investigated, and the place was airtight. There is no place that is especially cold in the way that would hint at being the location of the cold itself.

The faucet

So I did the only thing that I know how. I called around and asked for help. Eventually settling on this one local company for help, which they offered up graciously. When the worker arrived, I had a hard time speaking to them because I don’t speak Spanish. But he said something about Gato? Then he proceeded to sneeze all throughout the service.

When the worker came in, he did a general overview before checking the closet. He said something about it being very cold, but he had a hard time speaking, probably because of the cat. But he asked me for a glass of water and then shut the door. I went to grab the water and took my time. But it was strange. The faucet almost wouldn’t work. The water just came out very slow.

I could barely finish a glass, and I wasn’t going to offer a guest a drink without preparing myself one too, so I had to stand there and fill up another glass of water, and it probably took about two minutes while I was filling up the glasses. Then when I got to the closet, he was gone! He left his bag and just left. I don’t understand; I didn’t even hear him leave.

To make up for it, I’ve just decided to check through his bag and was able to find some red duct tape. So I just took the duct tape and sealed off the door, made sure none of that cold air could escape. From there I just went back to what I usually do. I sat down in my chair and stared at the manilla envelope. I haven’t opened it yet; I’m not sure that I want to. Maybe tomorrow.

the envelope

EDIT: Okay, so I decided to open the envelope. There are two pages, one is written in something presumably Arabic, and the other is in plain English. Brass Whistle, Low B. It’s hard to be clearer than that. So I just have to make it happen, also in the manilla envelope was probably half a million dollars. But that’s pretty standard at this point; I only make a whistle every couple of months, and I’ve only just recently started to make these. I had no idea that boat whistles would be that expensive otherwise I would have jumped into this profession much sooner.  So I think I’ll start working on that, just have to see who in the nearby area has brass. Strangely enough, I think I may have seen a brass cylinder in that gentleman’s bag.

 

Ice Cubes in Coconut Rum

I’ve always said that my sister might be a gorgon. Her thick, gross hair always tended to be ropey and every time she would stare at me I felt this cold snap of danger. However, when she calls me and asks me if I’ve heard of a company called Aqua hair extensions. I simply made gargling sounds until she hung up the phone on me.

the tub

It’s an old joke that we used to do because when she was born she was supposed to have a twin but she never made it. Something about the umbilical cord, we don’t talk about it. But I guess indirectly referencing it is a good way for her to cope with the situations of her life.

I wish I could talk to her about it though because when I was younger, she would hang out in the corner and just sort of talk to herself. And not like quiet whispering talk like how movies like to show. She would just sit and have full on conversations with herself while staring right at me. But she would never be talking to me, and when I think about it, I don’t know if she was ever actually staring at me because her eyes were white. I couldn’t quite see her pupils.

Anyway, it’s irrelevant, she’s trapped up in Wisconsin right now while I’m down here, thumbing this post in through my WordPress app. I’m living the life; I have to open that envelope and the money will start pouring in. I’m just not sure if I’m ready to work yet. It’s been a few months since I made my last whistle.

It’s funny; I’ll receive these strange requests for whistles usually from foreign countries. The last time I sent a whistle out was in February. It was a replacement whistle for a boat called the Azule or something like that. It was shipped to Indonesia, and I was paid by the usual broker. I’ve never met the man but the money is good, so I’m happy.

cats eyes

As for me, life is going pretty good right now. I just get to hang out and live my life. I’m going to go back later and probably have a drink to myself and try to watch a show or something. I’ll always have to turn my tv way up because my neighbors cat just end up being so loud.

Still, I see them streaming in there. I don’t know how many cats must call that place home, but it sounds like there are hundreds of them. And you know what the most bizarre part? It never smells like cat. You know how some places have that cat smell? This always smells nice, like lavender or something. They must spend a fortune on air fresheners to keep this place smelling so good. Sometimes I’ll wake up in the middle of the night and be certain that I see tiny eyes in the darkness as if one of the cats got in. While it’s distinctively possible, I just don’t see it happening. They seem to be avoiding me at all costs.

 

Cold in my apartment

I got to meet my neighbors today. This old lady and her sister live together. They told me that a few of my boxes were left in their care and that if I wanted them, I would have to “come and get them.” So I went next door probably five minutes later and had to look around their house for it to their consent. They were both wearing matching clothes and drinking lemonade in opposite hands. They had around ten cats, all Persian, running around and scratching me while I had to look for my boxes.

they are

After about 10 minutes of this, all in complete silence, I find out that the boxes had blankets tossed over them and were being used as regular furniture. I folded the blanket and left it on the couch next to a cat grooming itself. One of the old ladies nodded while the other shook her head. But they both took a sip from the lemonade. It took me close to another ten minutes just to escort the boxes out of the apartment. All the while cats kept streaming in from the outside whenever I opened the doors. No cats ever left.

When I finally got back to my apartment, which shouldn’t have been a journey considering it’s right next door, I had missed a call. I didn’t know that I had a land line connected, yet somehow I had both a phone with service and a missed call. So I called the number back and at first, all I heard was heavy breathing. Then it was someone saying my mother wanted to speak to me, so I said dial her through, and then the voice simply said that she was about to call me right now. Then my cell phone went off.

I answered the phone and heard the muffled complaints of my mother. She was either being smothered while she spoke or she was eating cheese again. She loves Wisconsin with all of her heart; that’s what the cardiologist told me anyway. After I had got done getting chewed out for never calling and also not inviting her to her new home and not telling her that I don’t life where I used to live, I was able to finally hangup on her. But this only happened after I reassured here that it was all very intentional.

Speak to me

Then after all that time I finally got to sit in my large, mostly vacant house all by myself. On the glass table in front of me rests an unopened manila envelope. It’s another contract to make a whistle. All around me are boxes from the move that I have yet to unpack, now with two additional ones covered in fur from animals I don’t own. I sneezed.

So aside from the bizarre meetings, strange phone calls and apparent allergies, I’ve had a good day overall. The new city seems to be taking to me, or maybe I’m just not sure as to what is going on anymore. How are you guys doing?

Winter has left

Hello. My name is Jack, and this is my blog. I sell whistles. But not the whistles you would think. I sell whistles to boats. I’ve been working on my craft for years. When I was little, I would widdle holes into sticks and then find a way to turn it into a whistle. It wasn’t till I was a few years older that my mother, Taylor, told me how gross it was, and I stopped, for a time.

a whistle, i made this

I’ve loved whistles all of my life. I set out to be a great whistle salesman where I’m from up in Wisconsin. But there’s not much use for them there. I make custom whistles, usually for coaches or factories. But once you’ve made them, you’ve made them all. My sister sells belts and between the automotive industry and men with increasing waistlines, she’s enjoyed bashing me at family events.

So after having years of being tormented by my mother and my sister, Jean. I decided to move away. I contacted Brosda & Bentley and had a house arranged for me. Small scale, for them, large scale for those not in the whistle industry. It might sound like I’m joking, but I spend a month creating the whistles that end up being the iconic sound for millions of peoples adventures. The time has to be right and yet unique. No two whistles can sound the same.

So I’m new in town down here, and I have no intent on going back to Wisconsin or the snow. I hate the snow, and I love the sand. I also love the heat, the way it feels on my face, the way it stings my hands when I’ve been working with the iron for too long. It’s been something I’ve dreamt of forever.

im a pawn

As for Miami itself, it’s alright. There are plenty of beautiful women here, but the drivers are awful. There are plenty of good places to eat, but very few things that agree with my stomach. I do like that there is plenty of time for sports and activities, but I don’t think I can enjoy the heat for that long.

Overall, I’m happy to be here. I may need some time to adjust to the permanent summer of Florida, but I prefer it. Let it become my season, let the sand become part of me, let the world surround me.

Let the ocean splash around me and let my body be taken from it. I want to be absorbed into this; I want who I am to erode in the dunes. I want my northern feet to be changed by the southern sun. I’m tired, and I’m filled with hate for where I came from. I have no intention of going back there or speaking to the people who have been there my whole life. I want them to fall into the snow; I want them to fall into the blizzards of the north and remain there because the winter is dead to me.