Woodbury, Kentucky

Woodbury, Kentucky



I received a letter this morning, two actually, one of them was registered and needed my signature. After flourishing a Benjamin Grier that would be read as “Bengmi Gree”, I ripped the letters open. The first one was from a lawyer’s company, Smith & Choler. The second one was from the government. Both of them said basically the same thing, I had received a house in Kentucky as the only living relative of Ms. Rose Amery, an aunt from my mother’s side. She died last week so her possessions were passed onto me although I had to go to Kentucky to claim the objects and also contact the lawyer because she left a will.

The lawyer was not Smith or Choler, but someone called Anthony Peters and apparently he was Aunt Rose’s lawyer.

I couldn’t believe it at first, because most of my family was in Argentina and I never contacted them. Although I did remember my mom used to trash talk a distant aunt, a “hermit” as she called her. And it was always “Rose this” and “Rose that”, maybe this was the Rose she was talking about.

I didn’t really know what to do except pace in my tiny little kitchen all morning. I was actually tempted to go there and accept it. Why, you ask?

Let’s just say I wasn’t going through the best phase of my life and a change of scenery might or might not help it. I was in college, worked at night, and my grades in high school were so average that I could only choose a career that I didn’t hate but at the same time didn’t want.

Don’t judge me wrong, I wasn’t that bad. There were other specializations I could have taken but I was good at math so I chose one that would automatically give me a job. A degree in Business Management.

“What do I do…”

I had finished my first year at the college a week ago and it was vacation time. Which I spent at home, glued to my computer before I went to work.

I think I really needed to go somewhere else and forget all the worries. The air seemed stale and everything looked the same to me, it was just… peachy. I was poor and miserable at the moment. I think sometimes I’m too selfish when there are people who don’t even have a roof above their heads, and warm clothes to wear. But I can’t help it, I’m only human.

There was something else that wasn’t convincing me to stay either, my non-existent love life (we can include social life in here too). I was a very introvert person, always kept it to myself, so I’m sure no woman would rush to my side and declare her undying love. Or look at me without a wrinkled face as if they had poop under their noses.

So it was decided, I would contact the lawyer and visit the place.


~*~


I check the letter to make sure I was in the right place. It was downtown, in the middle of all the noise, fancy restaurants and snotty people. I look up, up, up at the high, very, very high skyscraper that has Smith & Choler written in bold black letters on the glass door.

Subconsciously, I smooth my sweater down and try to fix my hair a bit. My reflection grimaces back at me from the glass door, noticing the hole in my jeans on the knee and the ugly brown sneakers that match my hair and should actually be orange.

I swallow dry and push the door open, it swooshes quietly. Men in suit walk around with expensive looking suitcases, talking and chatting with clients. I cross the lobby where a couch and two comfy chairs look immaculately clean. I reach the secretary in the lobby, a bit hesitant. There’s a constant ding from the elevators on each side and the buff bodyguard glances briefly at me before returning to the surroundings.

I clean my throat to get the receptionist’s attention.

“How can I help you?” she smiles with all her perfectly straight teeth and hair in a tight ponytail.

“Um. I’m here to see Dr. Peters?”

“Just a moment please,” she picks the phone, presses number four, speed dial probably, and there’s a hushed exchange of words. Then there are multiple clicks from the keyboard as she types at the speed of light.

“He’s expecting you in room number two of the tenth floor. Take the elevator to your right and it’s the first door you see on your right.” She smiles, pointing at the elevator. I mumble a small “thank you.”

I walk, tightening my hand on my bag, uncomfortable, and wait for the elevator. This is a bit unnerving. Two other men wait behind me and a few minutes later, four more have joined. The elevator opens and there is a rush of suited men while I struggle to enter, a little bewildered.

Five fingers press different floor buttons before I have the chance to press on mine. There is silence as no one talks, eyes on the floor. There is classic music on the elevator from a speaker above our heads, but it doesn’t help the awkward silence any better. Doors open again, some people exit and others enter. Someone coughs twice, thrice, and it’s too stuffy standing in a closed metal box with strangers who are also too damn close. And possibly sick.

Maybe that’s just my imagination.

It takes a torturously long time and finally I find myself on the tenth floor, relieved out of my mind.

There is a long white hallway that turns around the corner where a water dispenser stands and a frail, sick plant slowly dies from the lack of sun. But I ignore those things and notice the dark blue office doors. I halt before the first one on my right, inhaling slowly to gain courage.

The door opens before I can knock and a young man (too young in my opinion,) smiles at me with his hand poised on the doorknob. He wears a suit, thin glasses, and faint almost unnoticeable acne on his face shows his youth.

“Come in, come in,” he gestures forward and I comply with a hesitant smile. “I assume you are Mr. Grier?” he asks with a business “show-all-your-teeth” smile that still needs to be worked on a little bit because he looks tired.

I nod and enter the room, which has three spacious cubicles, two of them are occupied with office workers and clients.

“Please sit, I’m Dr. Anthony Peters,” he motions for the third white cubicle and I sit on the black chair in front of his desk. It is quite comfortable if I may say so.

Dr. Peters (this sounds kind of wrong because he looks younger than me and I’m twenty years old) sits on the other side and removes a few papers from his desk. I place my bag on my lap and fist my hands on top, not really knowing what to do with them.

“I am Ms. Rose Amery’s lawyer and I contacted you the other day regarding her death and the inheritance.” He states seriously and I nod. “She confided in me that you never knew her face to face although you are the only living relative in America and her sole inheritor.”

I blink, a bit tense. “I... yes, I know that but I thought she had a sister somewhere in Argentina. And a nephew.”

“Yes, I am aware, but Ms. Amery wrote a will, it is her wish that all her possessions go to any living relatives left in America, or sold otherwise while the money goes to charity.”

I did not know that.

The lawyer pushes some papers towards me that I hadn’t noticed before.

I read them slowly. It turns out to be a copy of her will, signed and stamped properly.

“Well, I…” I hesitate.

My family all travelled to Argentina, expect my mother because she married my father, an American. And apparently, Aunt Rose stayed too. Does that mean Aunt Rose wanted my mother to have the house? My trash talking mother?

“Since we have discovered you, the house and all its objects will obviously not be sold and you’ll inherit it,” he explains, gesticulating. “We have filled in her death,” he gives me the death certificate. “But there is preliminary paperwork that needs to be done. And you will need to go to Kentucky to claim the property.”

I am still very quiet as I see him open the drawer of the desk and remove some papers, which have blank spaces and instructions.

“Okay, yes, let’s start.” I agree. As the morning ends, the papers have finally finished and all too soon I’m exiting the room with a promise of being contacted again and a friendly pat on my shoulder as he accompanies me to the elevator.

“Thank you,” I say just to be polite and the lawyer insists on shaking hands when we part.

Now, here I am, outside a lawyers’ building, actually considering a trip to this town and house I have never heard of. And you know what, I can’t wait to go.