Today is a day on my calendar that’s usually not to be fucked with. A big black square that nobody in their right mind would touch. It took my secretary one slip-up a few years back before she learned better than to ever contact me again on this day.

But sometimes, adulting gets in the way of our grand plans. And as it stands I’ve been so distracted by Lola that I managed to schedule a meeting for one of the most significant ad campaigns of the year this afternoon. The product is a major sports brand. It deserves my full attention, and typically there wouldn’t be a thing that could tear me away from the adrenaline high of scoring a campaign like this.

But my phone has been buzzing from my pocket while I deliver my presentation in a half-assed fashion. Under standard protocol, my phone would have remained on silent for meetings with a client of this caliber, but today I was hoping Lola might text me back.

When I wrap up this train wreck, I meander back to my office to check. It isn’t Lola’s name on the screen, but a 708-area code. It’s a number I’d rather not see on my phone again. Steve is my contact from days past. He’s a resident of my former neighborhood who has taken it upon himself to keep me in the loop should anything ever require my attention. I doubt that whatever matter he’s calling about is urgent, but I return his call anyway.

“Adrian,” Steve greets me from the other end of the line. “How are you?”

“Swell. What do you need, Steve?”

He clears his throat and presents his case with pride. “As you may have heard, I’ve been elected Vice President of the Oak Vista Community and I’m pleased as punch to carry the title.”

“I’m sure you are,” I mutter. “But I don’t see how that concerns me.”

“Well, as you know, we became a resident owned community back in 2012, and part of that process has been community gentrification.”

“I’m aware.” The entire notion is ridiculous because it’s Riverdale and unless they can find a way to rid the gang infestation, every sentence he utters is a waste of breath.

“We’ve been working hard to clean up the space,” Steve tells me. “We’ve made a nice little community area and have really improved the lots since you left.”

And now, I finally see where he’s going with this. He’s quiet for a pause before he finds his balls. “There’s only one lot left that could really use some work.”

“I have no intentions of doing any renovations on the lot.”

He sighs. “I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but the place is a real eyesore. And a lot of folks feel like they can’t forget what happened there, seeing the trailer half burned the way it is.”

“Well then perhaps they shouldn’t look at it,” I offer.

“I know it’s hard,” he continues. “I can’t imagine what it was like to lose your mama that way. But do you think that maybe it’s time to let the place go? Allow someone else to move in there and replace it with happy memories.”

My blood pressure soars, and I have an urge to make a special trip over there to burn the rest of the place down myself.

“Happy memories?” I seethe. “You must be fucking joking.”

Steve doesn’t reply.

“Lose this number,” I tell him. “And don’t waste my time again.”

Three long hours of contemplation settled it for me. Whiskey seemed like a valid option, especially on today of all days. But whiskey isn’t the cure for what ails me.

I swore I’d never come back to this place. Nothing has changed. The trailer and the dead land around it seem to be frozen in another time. The weeds are overgrown, and the windows are still sealed up. The burned remnants of my childhood home are the one place that appears to be safe from vandalism and robberies in this neighborhood. Even the worst of humanity doesn’t want to go inside.

I sit down on the wobbly stairs at the front and try to recall one good thing from my time here. Surely, it couldn’t have been all bad. But all I can remember are the sounds that haunt me to this day. My mother having sex with whatever John she’d managed to bring home that night. I don’t need to go inside to take that trip down memory lane.

I’ll never purge the stench of stale cigarette smoke and cheap perfume from my brain. The smell of rotting dishes in the sink. The used condoms in the bathroom garbage. Her tits hanging out of her dress as she stumbled to the couch to fall asleep.

A shudder moves through me, and when I close my eyes, she is still a vivid picture in my mind. I was sixteen the last time I saw her. She came into the living room after I’d fallen asleep on the couch. She reeked of booze and sex, and she was already near blacking out.

“Aren’t you so handsome?” she’d mumbled as she touched my face. And then my dick.

I heaved her off of me, and she fell ass backward, legs spread with no panties on. After that, she was no longer my mother. Disgust blackened any shred of love that remained for her as she crawled towards me and begged me for just five bucks. She’d do anything I wanted for just five bucks. She couldn’t even recognize her own son in her fucked up head.

The contents of my stomach sours and threatens to purge as the sound of the rusty front gate assaults my ears.

“I had a feeling you might come.” Steve gives me the once-over. “My God, you have grown. You must be what, six-two now?”

“It’s been thirteen years,” I answer flatly.

“You don’t say. Feels like yesterday.”

I have no patience for small talk. “Do you have anyone interested in the lot?”

Steve perks up. “We’re willing to make you a reasonable offer for the land itself. The trailer will need to go, but we can take care of that if we work out a good price.”

I rise from my seat and brush off my trousers. “I’ll sign it over free of charge. So long as you agree to demolish the trailer.”

Steve extends his hand and gives me an easy smile. “You got yourself a deal.”