Sunday Night Chef Fights
Mystery Man Essay

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I see him sitting on his dilapidated front porch every day waiting for something that I have never seen come. He rocks back and forth on his old wood rocking chair. The man lives alone in a brown two-story house that always catches the eye of walking pedestrians. I see him every day when I get home from school still rocking back and forth. Trying to talk to him is hard, but I have gotten him to open up his chapped lips and answer my question about why he sits out in the chilly weather every day. “She’s coming,” he says in his Vin Scully like voice. Confusion overwhelms my brain as if I was trying to figure out how to cure cancer. “She’s coming” just circled my brain that whole Tuesday evening. The only time he gets up from his creaky chair is when it is time for dinner. 

I woke up the next morning thinking about the man across the street. I tore off my purple bed sheets and wobbled to the bathroom. I turned on the shower then looked at the warm foggy mirror. “She’s coming,” circles my head again and again until I couldn’t take it anymore so I turned off the shower threw on my clothes and ran a solid 15 miles per hour across the street to see the mysterious man. When I approached the house, I heard a thud coming from the scary upstairs. I rushed through the door without a knock. I go left and see a collection of comic books Then I go right and see a dusty dining room but I don’t see the mysterious man. I heard the noise again, and it sounded like it was coming from the 70s style living room. I hurried to see what the noise was but couldn’t figure out what was. I checked in the last room in the house which was the kitchen. I scanned the room and in the room's corner, I saw the mysterious man looking at what looks to me like a picture of someone. I quickly ran to the green front door, turned the cold knob, and ran home. 

The image of the man and the photo teased my brain the whole day. I kept thinking about who the person was. Then I realized. The man has been living alone in that creepy house for decades without a single soul besides me earlier and him has ever been in it. I scurried to the kitchen to ask my dad if the man across the street had a wife or lived with anyone else. My dad said that he used to have a wife but she died a long time ago. After I got the news, I ran to the man’s house. I approached his frightening house and turned the knob for the second and hopefully last time ever. When I got in the house I slowly looked around, then hung up my coat on the rack. I shook like a kettle on the stove while walking down the halls. My teeth shivering and chattering. My legs shaking like an earthquake. I proceeded to the kitchen where I saw the man at last. I made a swift left turn, and the man was in my sight once again, but this time he wasn’t just looking at the photo of the woman he was hugging it. I tried to open my mouth and speak to him, but I just couldn’t. I was in shock. minutes felt like hours. I finally asked the man if the photo he was holding close to him was his wife. He just nodded and continued to cry. Then I slowly walked over to him and gave him a nice soft pat on his bony back and asked him if he wanted to come over for dinner where he doesn’t have to be alone.

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