noah brooks

there’s a man where i’m from, or at least a legend of a man. from the earliest age i can remember people have told stories of his wealth, his greatness, his kindness, generosity and knowledge. i’ve never met him though. he lives right down the road from me in the mansion on top of the hill. it’s not hard to see if you were looking for it, but i walk by it nearly every day usually too busy to even look up and see the glory of his house as do most people here. it’s like one of those things that you know is there but it’s been there so long you take it for granted. i used to live by the lake and every day the lake never moved but i stopped noticing it and it wasn’t until i didn’t live on the water anymore that i missed it. i missed knowing it was there, the sense of direction it gave me knowing which way is north, i missed the scent of the water, i even missed the bugs that would flock to the nearby homes covering the siding making our white house look peppered.

as i grew older and moved away i never forgot about the man in the mansion on the hill. he would pop into my mind like a memory from childhood, like when a smell of a home cooked meal reminds me of the comfort of my grandmother’s home. even though i’ve never met this man i had heard so much about him that my imagination painted a picture of his face. i knew he’d be kind and strong and for some reason i felt like he was bigger than most people. not in size or stature, but there was always this sense of grandeur because the way people spoke of him. it made it seem like he was the type of man who would hug you if you were having a bad day and that hug was like a warm blanket wrapped around your body, like the comfort of a swaddled baby.

i got to a place in life where i no longer had those pleasant childhood memories popping into my head. only thoughts of failure, hurt and pain. those carefree moments replaced with anxiety and depression of the life i failed to build. rather than candy or treats my grandma would sneak to me i looked forward to the medication that made me feel human again while isolating myself from my loved ones, knowing they’d see the true pain in my eyes.

i no longer lived in that place but the memory of the man kept coming back to me, so one day i decided to go back to that place and try to meet him for the first time. walking up the hill there is no road, no sidewalk, no street lamps just a worn path of grass leading to the top of the hill. as i walked down this path i thought about all the people that i know who have met this man and gone to this house and walked the same path that i travelled down. my grandma used to speak of the man every day as did my mother. when they first spoke of him i was intrigued of their stories hanging on to every word, wanting to hear more, passing their stories onto my friends, even at times stealing their stories as my own so i could brag to my friends about what the man had done for me. but as time went on and i got older i lost interest in all the stories.

as i approached the house it was dark with only flickers of light shining through the window. anxiously i approached the front doors, still not exactly certain what i was even doing there or what i was looking for, but it felt like i had no other choice but to be there. when i first knocked on the door the knock was so soft i was sure that if anyone was inside there was no way they would even hear it. i knocked a little harder the next time and waited and waited but there was still no answer. eventually i went to one of the windows and as i peaked in i saw a fire roaring in the large fireplace above the fireplace was a painting of the lamb right above the mantle almost as if the lamb was being sacrificed as a burnt offering over the large fireplace.

“he must be home“ i thought, so i went back to the front doors and knocked again, and again, and again. each knock grew harder and louder as the anger built inside of me. i don’t know where this anger inside me came from but it was a feeling i never had before, roaring like the fire burning within the house. i’ve never met this man, but i knew that he would help me, i would beg him to. “why are you not answering?“ i thought to myself until eventually with one last knock i screamed “answer the fucking door” yet still no answer…

walking away i thought about all the stories i have heard about the man from my childhood. how they were probably all just bullshit like i had suspected. “if he was so kind why wouldn’t he leave me standing on the doorstep, why would he not help me when i needed it?“

i stopped thinking about the man for years. i didn’t care if he was real or not, when i needed him he left me on the doorstep.

to this day i’ve still never met him, i’m not even sure if i believe any of the stories anymore. but for some reason i hold onto the hope that one day we will cross paths.