Gone Woodland Heights

Tommy followed the map that Mr. Charlene had given him, navigating through the unfamiliar streets of Tennessee until he arrived at the address marked for his new apartment.

The neighborhood was a stark contrast to the vibrant community in Kentucky where he had grown up.

Here, the buildings were run-down, with peeling paint and broken windows. Trash littered the sidewalks, and the air smelled of exhaust and decay.

He grumbled to himself as he approached the building.

"This place ain't nothing compared to Woodland Heights," he muttered, thinking of the close-knit community back in Kentucky where his mother, Margaretta, and their friends had made a comfortable life despite the challenges they faced.

Tommy climbed the creaky stairs to the second floor, passing by flickering lights and worn-out carpet.

He found room 09 at the end of a dimly lit hallway. The door looked weathered, the paint chipped and faded. With a sigh, he inserted the key Mr. Charlene had given him and turned it.

To his surprise, as he pushed the door open, a rush of dirty water flowed out, soaking his shoes and the cuffs of his pants.

"What?!" Tommy exclaimed, stepping back in shock.

The apartment beyond was a disaster.

The floor was covered in ankle-deep, murky water that smelled of mildew and old plumbing. Furniture was overturned, and cardboard boxes floated lazily in the stagnant pool.

The walls were stained and peeling, and the ceiling showed signs of water damage, with patches of mold growing in the corners.

Tommy's heart sank as he stood in the doorway, taking in the dismal sight. He couldn't believe this was supposed to be his new home.

Anger and frustration welled up inside him. How could Mr. Charlene have sent him to such a place? Was this supposed to be a joke, a test of his resolve?

With a deep breath, Tommy stepped cautiously into the room, his shoes squelching in the water.

He set his suitcase box down on a relatively dry spot of floor and surveyed the scene. Determination flickered in his eyes despite the setback. He couldn't afford to give up now.

He rolled up his sleeves and began to assess the damage, thinking of his mother's resilience and the strength she had shown him over the years. As he started to move the furniture and gather the soggy boxes, he noticed a faint sound—a drip, drip, drip coming from somewhere above.

Looking up, he saw a crack in the ceiling, water seeping through in a steady trickle. That explained the flooding.

"Christ!" Tommy sighed heavily, realizing he had a long night ahead of him.

He needed to find a way to stop the leak and salvage what he could of the apartment. "Damn it," he muttered under his breath, pushing his wet hair out of his eyes. "This joint is a real dump, man."

He began to grumble to himself as he moved soggy boxes and overturned furniture.

"Back in Woodland Heights, we had it way better than this," he muttered, remembering the warm community where his mother, Margaretta, and their friends had built a life together.

As he worked, memories of his old friends in Kentucky flooded his mind, bringing a bittersweet smile to his face. He chuckled softly, recalling the times they had shared, their laughter echoing through the neighborhood streets.

"Man, those were the days," he said aloud, a touch of nostalgia in his voice.

But then his thoughts turned to Billy, the friend who had broken him. He remembered the day Billy had ridden his bicycle all the way to Woodland Heights, a bouquet of wildflowers in hand.

Tommy had been surprised and touched by the gesture, his heart swelling with lots of love. That memory now felt distant, tainted by Billy's sudden abandonment.

Pushing those thoughts aside, Tommy focused on the task at hand. He found a mop in a corner and started to clear the water, grimacing at the dirt and grime that came up with each pass.

"Gotta make this place halfway decent," he muttered, his jaw clenched with determination.

As he worked, he discovered a leaky pipe in the bathroom ceiling, the source of the flooding.

He cursed under his breath as he tried to tighten the valve, the water slowing to a trickle but not stopping entirely. "Just my luck," he grumbled, wiping his brow with his sleeve.

Hours passed as Tommy labored to clean and organize. By the time he collapsed onto a soggy couch, exhaustion weighed heavily on him. He looked around at the slightly less dismal apartment, feeling a sense of grim satisfaction.

It wasn't much, but it was a start.

As he lay there, a sense of loneliness washed over him. He missed the familiar faces and comforting voices of Woodland Heights. But he knew he couldn't dwell on the past. He had to focus on the future, on making this new place his own.

With a deep breath, Tommy closed his eyes, his mind drifting back to the memory of Billy and the flowers.

Despite everything, a small smile touched his lips. Maybe, just maybe, there was hope for new beginnings, even in this dirty, shitty place in Tennessee.

Tommy stirred from a fitful sleep, the persistent dripping sound echoing in his ears like a distant drumbeat. As consciousness slowly returned, he felt a cold sensation on his face, followed by a sudden taste of something unpleasant.

"Pwah! Peww!" Tommy sputtered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. The taste of dirty water lingered, and he grimaced in disgust.

"Goodness! What the heck is that?" he exclaimed, sitting up abruptly on the damp couch.

His anger flared as he looked around the dimly lit room, the faint light casting eerie shadows on the water-stained walls.

The drip, tap continued, mocking him with its relentless rhythm.

Tommy swung his legs over the side of the couch, his feet splashing in the shallow puddles that had formed on the floor overnight.

He followed the sound to the bathroom, where he found the source of the problem—a leaky faucet that was dripping steadily into the sink.

The water pooled on the cracked porcelain and dripped onto the floor, creating a small puddle that had evidently splashed onto his face while he slept.

"Shit!" Tommy cursed under his breath as he grabbed an old towel from a nearby hook and used it to mop up the water.

His frustration simmered just below the surface, fueled by exhaustion and the relentless challenges of his new life in Tennessee.

After tightening the faucet as best he could, Tommy stood back and surveyed the now slightly drier bathroom.

He knew he had to prepare for school at Shan'titon High.

The thought of starting anew at a place where no one knew him brought a mix of nerves and anticipation. It was his chance to prove himself, to forge a path forward despite the odds stacked against him.

With a deep breath, Tommy pushed aside the lingering frustration. "I'll fix this place up, just you wait and see," he muttered to the inanimate room, more to reassure than convince. "But first, I gotta get ready for school."

He quickly washed up again, using the last of his bottled water, and dressed in his best clothes—a worn but clean shirt and trousers that he had carefully pressed the night before.

He gathered his books and the letter from Mr. Charlene, tucking them into his very small bag along with a few essentials.