Crispen’s name. Crispen doesn’t work at the hospital and from the sound of it, he hasn’t worked there in a while. Why would he lie? The confusion this brings, causes me to look back on his recent behavior. Nothing has really been that out of the ordinary. If he hasn’t been going to the hospital all the time though, where has he been going? The first thought that comes to mind is one of jealousy. I imagine him slipping off to another woman’s house. Why should I be jealous though? We’re nothing more than friends. The second thought I get is that maybe he switched hospitals, but I let that thought go when I recall him talking specifically about this hospital, and he would tell me if he switched hospitals.
I can’t think of a single explanation for this except that maybe whoever typed up the directory, missed his name. A strange gut feeling that I can’t explain overcomes me and leads me to the front door of his house. I bang on the front door, and when there is no answer, I try the knob. It opens. Doesn’t he lock his doors?
Surprisingly, I’ve never been to Crispen’s house before. Each time I suggest we hang out at his place instead of mine, he tells me that it’s too much of a mess or that I would be more comfortable at my own house, but upon moving in, he did drop off a spare key to his home at my place.
I switch on the light and further confusion hits me. There is not a single piece of furniture in his the front room or attached kitchen. Why? Where are all of his things?
“Crispen?!” I call up the stairs. When there is no answer, I climb them slowly.
I open the first door on my left to reveal a small empty bathroom. Then the next door which looks to be an empty bedroom. There is literally not a single thing in this house. It’s like no one has lived here in forever. Something rolls in my gut, and I stand frozen in the upstairs hallway gaping. What is going on?
I descend the stairs and enter the kitchen. I pull open drawers and cupboards hastily in disbelief. How can someone own nothing ? Has he ever even lived here? A piece of paper on the kitchen island catches my eye, and I pick it up. It is a real estate paper for the home. The date of listing catches my eye. Two months ago this home went up for sale, and at the current date at the top of the paper, as of two days ago, it was still for sale. This revelation nearly brings me to my knees. Does everyone have to lie? Unless he was renting this house while it was for sale, which I doubt by the vast amount of dust and lack of items in the place, then something is very wrong.
I escape the house and run up to his car parked parallel to the house. I stick my face to the glass windows and peer inside. It’s tough to see through the tinted windows, and I don’t make out much at all. Where could he be?
“Looking to steal my wallet or something?” a familiar voice asks smoothly from behind me. I swallow hard and turn to face Crispen.
“You have a lot of explaining to do,” I state in the calmest voice I can muster.
His grin fluctuates a bit. “I guess I do,” he agrees.
“You can begin any time now,” I encourage.
“That house I was living in, my uncle is the seller. I’ve been living in it while he finds someone to take over it,” he explains calmly, as if this is the most normal thing ever. “He called me this morning after you left and told me that he wants me out as soon as possible, since it’s kind of illegal for me to be living there, so I rented an apartment downtown as quick as possible and spent the day moving all of my stuff there. I should’ve called, I know. I left my phone in my car. I rented a moving truck for the day.”
“You haven’t been working at the hospital for quite a while,” I continue.
He flinches but catches himself and fastens a smile to his lips. “What do you mean?”
I look at him dubiously.
“I’ve been working there…” he trails off as if he has no idea what I’m talking about. It’s
I can’t think of a single explanation for this except that maybe whoever typed up the directory, missed his name. A strange gut feeling that I can’t explain overcomes me and leads me to the front door of his house. I bang on the front door, and when there is no answer, I try the knob. It opens. Doesn’t he lock his doors?
Surprisingly, I’ve never been to Crispen’s house before. Each time I suggest we hang out at his place instead of mine, he tells me that it’s too much of a mess or that I would be more comfortable at my own house, but upon moving in, he did drop off a spare key to his home at my place.
I switch on the light and further confusion hits me. There is not a single piece of furniture in his the front room or attached kitchen. Why? Where are all of his things?
“Crispen?!” I call up the stairs. When there is no answer, I climb them slowly.
I open the first door on my left to reveal a small empty bathroom. Then the next door which looks to be an empty bedroom. There is literally not a single thing in this house. It’s like no one has lived here in forever. Something rolls in my gut, and I stand frozen in the upstairs hallway gaping. What is going on?
I descend the stairs and enter the kitchen. I pull open drawers and cupboards hastily in disbelief. How can someone own nothing ? Has he ever even lived here? A piece of paper on the kitchen island catches my eye, and I pick it up. It is a real estate paper for the home. The date of listing catches my eye. Two months ago this home went up for sale, and at the current date at the top of the paper, as of two days ago, it was still for sale. This revelation nearly brings me to my knees. Does everyone have to lie? Unless he was renting this house while it was for sale, which I doubt by the vast amount of dust and lack of items in the place, then something is very wrong.
I escape the house and run up to his car parked parallel to the house. I stick my face to the glass windows and peer inside. It’s tough to see through the tinted windows, and I don’t make out much at all. Where could he be?
“Looking to steal my wallet or something?” a familiar voice asks smoothly from behind me. I swallow hard and turn to face Crispen.
“You have a lot of explaining to do,” I state in the calmest voice I can muster.
His grin fluctuates a bit. “I guess I do,” he agrees.
“You can begin any time now,” I encourage.
“That house I was living in, my uncle is the seller. I’ve been living in it while he finds someone to take over it,” he explains calmly, as if this is the most normal thing ever. “He called me this morning after you left and told me that he wants me out as soon as possible, since it’s kind of illegal for me to be living there, so I rented an apartment downtown as quick as possible and spent the day moving all of my stuff there. I should’ve called, I know. I left my phone in my car. I rented a moving truck for the day.”
“You haven’t been working at the hospital for quite a while,” I continue.
He flinches but catches himself and fastens a smile to his lips. “What do you mean?”
I look at him dubiously.
“I’ve been working there…” he trails off as if he has no idea what I’m talking about. It’s
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