I should begin with Jane, just like myself, was uprooted the few months between grade school and high school and dragged unceremoniously to a new life. In her case, it was a small town in Northern Arizona. Unlike me, she only went to two high schools. We met up again when we both came back to the high school we were supposed to have started at for our Junior and Senior years.
The back story is to tell you about Jane's adventure last week. She drug me along and I am kind of glad she did, after all, I wouldn't have anything to write about. Anyway, Jane got a facebook message from someone she knew in her first high school. She has not heard from this guy in 35+ years. He now lives in Phoenix and has equity in his home and wants to know what to do.
Carl greeted us in this questionable West Phoenix neighborhood with a big smile and a squeeze for Jane and a look of astonishment for me. He is in the middle of a divorce ("My ex thought she could just quit working and stay home all day, so I kicked her out."). Carl showed us around his house, as we picked our way delicately through the nightmare of hoarded junk scattered everywhere ("It's the ex's".) while he waxed nostalgically with Jane about their two years of knowing each other until 1984. I could tell Jane didn't recall 90 percent of the people or memories he mentioned, but that didn't stop him from merrily chatting about the good old days.
His house is one of those cookie cutter types that were slapped up in the early 2000s (note: don't buy homes built in that era, folks). The place was pitch black inside, and that was after the curtains were open. Seriously, I don't think that house had been cleaned since the early 2000s. The back yard was an interesting homage to the Oklahoma dust bowl, with more dust and not a live plant in sight.
Carl's current plan is to take his home and convert it into a rental. He said he owned it outright (he doesn't) and it is a "gold mine." He then wants to buy several more and do the same with them. Except his credit has a teensy issue ("My ex did this to me!"). Plus, he needs to get the money together to clean and repair his current home. Then he needs the money to purchase a place to live, so he's thinking, "a few months."
While all of this was going on, Carl engaged Jane in stories about how he is "moving on" from his future ex-wife and when was the last time she saw the "gang?" (She said she doesn't really keep in touch with anyone from those two years, except now Carl, who found her on FB). And had Jane done something different with her hair since they last saw each other? (It was longer, redder and poofier back in the 1980s).
The only time I interjected was to tell him I was gravely concerned about the amount of chemicals I could see in the proximity of the gas hot water heater. We couldn't get to them, mind you, without scaling a mountain of metal, trash and whoknowswhatelse, but clearly, this was a significant fire hazard in the making. Carl ignored me and kept on chatting up Jane.
Our biggest hiccup on this tour came when I opened up Carl's adult son's room. Right there, sitting in plain sight was a crap-ton of blank real estate forms. Jane casually asked about them and Carl's answer was, "My son is a realtor." Yea... like Carl is going to hire Jane when his flesh and blood, living in Carl's home is a licensed agent.
As we left, I said, "Sweetie, this isn't going to happen." I was referring to Carl and Jane becoming an item. But she took it as helping Carl with real estate. We are both right.
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