Unit 49
Bradley Ottoman used to love the sound of rain hitting the roof of his home in Sonora Max Storage’s unit 49. How it would rasp against the tin sheet that kept the wet away from hisbed, forged from a couple of pallets and a cushion he found from a dumped porch swing. It would keep dry his pile of clothes that he could barely afford to wash, as well as the weekly bulk pack of ramen Bradley was lucky to be able to re-up thanks to the generosity of folks that would pass him by after shopping at the local Save-Mart.
What was an extra dollar bill to them anyway? Their trunks full of beer and chips and prime rib and more meat and more snacks and more beer. Bradley appreciated their sympathy, although he knew deep down that they were only giving it to him from the guilt of knowing that they were better off. That despite the hardships they were going through they could still come home to their families and cook ribs and drink beer.
On those rainy days Bradley would lie awake in unit 49, back when he still had batteries to power the blue reading light that gave him so much comfort. It gave him enough light to go through his photos, his only way into memories that he held dear. One was of his little brother in his little league baseball jersey. His head was so small at the time that his navy-blue cap sat over his eyebrows. This dysfunction couldn’t beat his big and obnoxious grin from winning the state championship.
One photo was of himself, hair cut short and professional. He stood showing off the front cover of his first published novel with a huge grin. Shapes in the Sand was his story about a lone wanderer and his psychological demise while being stranded on a deserted island. He didn’t win any awards for this novel, but he was nominated for one and sold a lot of copies. Bradley held on to this photo longing for that version of him to come back. The act of writing to him now would only be driven by guilt, and he feared the dark parts of his mind that could be found through this exposure.
The rest of the photos were of his late wife and daughter. He would study these and tryimagining a life where they could still be together, alive, and well. It would always be the same scene.
They’d be on a road trip to some incredible place with some incredible view, like the Grand Canyon or Mt. Rushmore. The Ottomans would be in the car driving to the nearest rest stop after grabbing dinner at a drive-thru.
Penny would be in the back-middle seat, sound asleep with her thick copper curls creating a perfect pillow to rest her head on the seatbelt. Her bright pink teddy bear would be sitting right next to her, tucked into the same seatbelt, its dark black eyes staring at Bradley through the rearview mirror, coaxing him to keep his eyes on the road.
His wife Rhonda would be in the passenger seat with whatever novel was current in her queue in her right hand. It would be illuminated by the same blue reading light Bradley nowcouldn’t bear to live without. It was always at the perfect level of brightness to illuminate the features of Rhonda’s angelic face. She had such a determined look in her eyes when she read. Her glasses rested close to the tip of her nose. Bradley knew she was enjoying what she read by the way her lips would curve into a beautiful half smile.
Her left hand would rest on top of his as Bradley shifted the gears. Sometimes Bradleyknew she could feel his hand loosen its grip as he would drift towards sleep.
“You gotta stay awake,” she would say, squeezing his hand and sending a jolt of reality through his body. “We don’t have long until the next rest stop. You can make it, honey. You always do.”
Everything would be okay in these moments he wanted so badly to be true. The best part of them were that Bradley would be sober enough to concentrate on his driving and keep his family alive.
One of these mornings Bradley had drifted off to sleep and was awoken by the voice of a loud man coming from outside the unit to the right of his. Other voices accompanied the loud man, but Bradley could not make out what they were saying.
“Alright folks, we’ve made it to unit 41! This one has been sitting here for a while, and management says it was owned by a very wealthy collector. Shall we bust open this bad boy and see what’s inside?”
The small crowd, as they could now be heard as a crowd, cheered, and whooped with a resounding yes.
“Alrighty then, hit it, Rodney!”
The sound of a loud snap and the clink of unit 41’s deadbolt followed as it fell to the ground. The sheet of the metal door scraped and ascended as the host’s assistant exposed the insides of the unit. When hearing this scraping noise, Bradley felt the air around him get cold and was jolted into a memory. He could see the thin metal of the roof of his wagon shaving itself away on the asphalt. Brilliant sparks illuminated the glass shards that flew around the cabin, along with the pages of Rhonda’s novel flying in a whirlwind dance and getting caught in the seats. Her head was limp and waving around. A crimson gash shimmered near her temple that signaled she had passed. The car came to an abrupt stop when hitting a telephone pole, wrapping the passenger side of the car into a widened V.
With his vision clouded from tears and smoke, Bradley kicked his door open, screaming from the shock that was sent through his knee. He crawled out of the wagon and limped around to see that Penny was unconscious. Her hair flowed towards the roof of the car that was now merely a frame, bending from all the weight above. Pain was sent through Bradley’s shoulders and spine when he forced the back door open to safely grab Penny from the middle seat. She had just met her uncle the day before, was just starting to understand the concept of family. In her last shallow breaths Bradley knew that if the opportunity arose, he would do anything to hear her innocent laugh again. His breathing began to slow as his emotions were released into a weep.
“Y’all can look, but you ain’t allowed to step in. Let’s give it about 5 then we’ll start the bidding.”
Bradley, now knocked out of his fearful state, knew that the man talking was an auctioneer. They must be selling off the units that hadn’t paid their rent in a while. At the time of hearing this he was two and a half months from his last payment. The money he was putting towards rent had gone to the best thrifted clothes he could find and a nice dinner on what he had thought was his birthday. Despite his efforts to lay low his home and self were about to be revealed. He was sure no one wanted to do a bidding war over a bulk pack of chicken flavor.
* * *
Thomas didn’t know about Sonora until he was hired to be a contract videographer for Storage Battles: USA. He wasn’t very fond of reality TV growing up and was surely not too excited for his first gig to be on a show that only aired at two-thirty in the afternoon on a Monday. When getting approved for the job, he thought; Who would even watch this show? Didn’t people have better things to do than watch people argue prices over storage units in the morning on a weekday? His agent knew better than that. Any job was a good job, and he needed to start building his resume if he wanted to land bigger gigs.
The night before the big shoot, the crew decided to get together at one of the local bars. Thomas wasn’t very fond of drinking due to recent family trouble, but luckily the dive they were in claimed to have a “mean sarsaparilla”. They sat behind Thomas at the bar’s only table to seat more than four playing some form of a drinking game that involved cards. Their laughter occasionally made Thomas jolt in surprise. He knew by the crew’s shared charisma that bonding would be difficult without shared substances.
Thomas’ company at that moment was game seven of the World Series, so he at least had a decent form of entertainment. He had just taken his first taste of the soda, too bitter as usual, when he was startled by the show’s host slapping and resting their hand on his left shoulder.
“What’s that you’re drinking hoss?” belched the auctioneer, Joe Richter. Some members of the of the crew had told Thomas that Joe’s stage name was coined due to how he’d always leave the barstools and beer cans strewn about like there’d just been an earthquake. “I reckon it’s got a lot of hops, given that dark color.”
“It’s just sarsaparilla,” Thomas replied, shaking off Joe’s hand from his shoulder. “I don’t like getting drunk.”
Joe nodded to assure Thomas that he heard and understood his statement. He then waved the bartender over and asked with a slow and slurred drawl, “Mind if I change the channel? I’d like to see how my kid son’s doing on The Bachelorette. He’s gonna be the next bachelor, lord willin’.” In one fluid motion Joe turned the TV to channel 396 and waved the remote back at the bartender. “Also, get this young man a whiskey on the rocks. Kid’s gotta loosen up!”
Thomas quickly motioned for the bartender not to do so. “I’m sorry Joe, but I’d rather not drink tonight. I appreciate the gesture though, really.” Thomas then stood up, grabbed his fancy root beer, and made his way to the exit.
Looking back Thomas saw that Joe had passed out on the counter. Joe’s left hand was somehow keeping his beer upright on the countertop while his right arm was limp dangling the remote loosely below the stool. Thomas knew Joe would soon forget this moment, waking up safe in his California King suite at the hotel after being driven home safely the night before. At least he hoped that was the case.
Thomas had just enough battery in his cell to call a cab to the hotel. His cab driver was silent and didn’t even introduce herself by name when Thomas got into the back seat. The only emotional interaction he remembered from the driver was when a homeless man was pushing his belongings in a cart along the crosswalk.
She honked and yelled out the window, “Pick up the pace, man!” The drifter paid her no mind and took his time. “This homeless problem is becoming such a huge issue. Why don’t people just go get a damn job?”
She looked up at Thomas through the rearview mirror seemingly asking for agreement, but Thomas’ eyes were focused on the drifter. He knew what it felt like to not be acknowledged and understood. He figured the cab lady had no idea what hardships the man might face. Frankly, neither did he. But he sure wouldn’t want to be the one pushing the cart.
The morning of the shoot came quickly. As the blacked-out Mercedes bus pulled up to Sonora Max Storage’s front gate, Thomas hopped out and shot some b-roll of the entrance sign. The tall mountains and the bright forest green created a great contrasting scenery. Thomas thought deeply about what it must be like to live here and constantly be surrounded by nature. It seemed to him like it would be a wonderful place for letting go and getting lost.
A multitude of uniquely designed cars began to pass through the open gate. Thomas recognized these as the vehicles of the buyers. This was his cue to start moving the camera towards the first unit. He knew it was somewhere in the 40’s. Walking past the fourth lane of the units Thomas noticed a crowd beginning to form around unit 41. The door was wide open. In the distance he thought that he faintly heard someone crying. He saw the crowd standing stern and determined to secure their bounty. He brushed what had to be hallucination away and started toward the unit.
***
Bradley had to act fast. He didn’t have much to work with other than his pallets and cushion. Eventually he came up with the idea of putting the pallets upright in the corner of his home to create a box where he could hide under his blanket. It’s the best he could do for now. He began to hear the auctioneer blabber words extremely quickly. It was time for the sale. The continuous “heres” and “yups” of the crowd gave Bradley just enough sound cover to get into position. The crowd suddenly began to fall quiet while the rambling of the auctioneer began to slow.
“Can I get a five thousand? Somebody, anybody five thousand? Alright forty-five hundred going once, going twice,” the auctioneer paused for what seemed like forever, then loudly snapped, “Sold to Georgia Dane! Thank you, Georgia Dane, and enjoy your unit 41! Let’s go ahead and take a short break y’all and then head to the next one, unit 49. This one was rentedby a once successful writer. Apparently not successful enough cause he couldn’t bear to pay his fees on time, ha-ha! How about y’all in the crew take a break as well. I know those cameras canget heavy after a while.”
Cameras? First, I thought I was gonna lose my home and be ashamed by a small crowd, but now it’ll also be whoever the hell’s watching whatever the hell they’re putting together?Bradley couldn’t take crouching in a corner anymore, and decided it was time to take matters into his own hands. He stood up, knocking the pallets down with a loud crash and headed towards the door.
***
Hearing a loud bang come from unit 49 Thomas instinctively flipped his camera to record. Luckily, he already had a shot of the unit’s door ready. Just seconds after hearing the noise the door began to open from the inside. The camera’s aperture brought illumination to the angry figure who opened the door. Thomas was sent a few steps back when he saw the man’s face materialize in the viewfinder.
After about a year of not seeing him in person, with more years of bad communication that preceded that moment, Thomas didn’t know that his brother Bradley could go through so much physical change. His brother’s caramel hair had grown far past his shoulders. Thomas knew that Brad liked to grow his hair out when they were younger but had never seen it so unkempt as in this moment. Brad’s beard was a surprise to Thomas as well, as he knew that he had insisted on teaching him to shave any time facial hair showed up. Brad also looked to Thomas as though he lost a lot of weight. His arms seemed to have lost a majority the girth that they had from before.
Thomas turned his gaze to his brother’s belongings, a torn-up cushion, pallets, ramen, and could vaguely see the blue reading light that he remembered had been attached to Rhonda’s book the last day he saw them. Next to them were photos strewn everywhere. One was of him handing away the pink teddy bear he had won for Penny at the bowling alley. That was the first and only day they met. He remembered how much Penny wanted that bear, and how she wouldn’t let go of it after receiving that embodiment of comfort. His heart began to race as he was shaken out of this trance by the voice of his boss.
“What in the hell?” questioned Joe. He began to square up his shoulders and look Bradley up and down. “Rodney, go get the yard manager. They’ve got a mess to clean up.”
The crowd began to take out their multicamera phones and pose angles of Bradley and his belongings. Fake shutter sounds began to fill the void of silence that resonated beforehand. The crowd, like vultures, were beginning to laugh at the weakness of their prey.
It occurred to Thomas that he was given a choice. His brother stood feet away from him, in an immense amount of struggle. All the hard work Thomas had endured had led up to this temporary assignment. This was something that could make his career all the better if he went through with it. He could sell this moment, be the cameraman who caught the once successful writer in a state of despair. He could capture a spectacle. Part of Thomas felt like his brother deserved that loss of face. Bradley felt this too, that standing in front of a crowd of cameras must have been fate’s way of casting judgement.
Thomas looked around again at what was now Bradley’s home. He determined that whatever brought Bradley to such a difficult state must have not been only alcohol. He wondered why it wasn’t clear to him before the amount of guilt his older brother might feel. Everything Bradley had before was lost, developed into memories he couldn’t let go of.
He quickly shut off his camera and stood between the crowd and his brother, making a motion with his arms to signify people to stay away.
“He’s a person too you know,” Thomas’ voice cracked against the last word. “He’s had a family just like you guys, a wife and kid.” The various recording devices of the cast and crewdirected their view to Thomas’s face, bringing Thomas into a feat of anger. “Turn the damn cameras off! Do y’all have any sense of respect?”
Joe looked at Thomas disapprovingly, saying, “I see why you didn’t take that drink last night. You’re a softy. That’s the problem with your generation, always thinking there’s a cause to be had. The world needs less of that garbage. I’m calling your agent, boy.”
Thomas couldn’t care less. He turned to Bradley, who in that moment realized why this random successful camera guy stood up for him. Bradley hadn’t seen him in what felt like ages.
“I’d hug you right now if I wasn’t so much of a wreck. I’m sorry I haven’t been a good brother. I missed you Tommy, buddy, I—” Bradley stumbled over his words and began to weep, holding his head in his hands in embarrassment. Tears began to wash away the dirt on his handsin streaks that flowed down his wrists. The crowd began to groan and dispersed away from the unit.
Joe decided that this episode was probably a lost cause at this point and realized that taking down these brothers would probably hurt his image. He left as well and went to find Rodney and call things off.
Left alone outside the unit, Thomas wrapped his arms around his crying brother. It had felt right of him before to slowly cut all communication and not be influenced by the errors of Bradley’s ways. He should have met Penny before that day and tried to look past the drinking. He now stood ashamed that maybe he could have been there to balance Brad’s addiction with care, be a good brother-in-law to Rhonda, and be a better uncle to Penny in the little time they had.
It was when Bradley forced the hug to be stronger that they put aside their guilt. Regardless of what had gone on before or where they were in life, they were sharing the same airnow. They had each other. Together, alive, and a given chance to become well.
Author Bio
Emmanuel Loomis is an English major at California State University Chico, active in the writing of both personal and academic work. He strives to create worlds that give a sense of escape while commenting on themes that deserve more attention. Emmanuel has before been published in Butte College’s student newspaper with his poem “Ode to Meat” and is currently working on a composite novel of fictional stories titled Siblings, Friends, and Those Who Need Them. He stays active in campus activities and enjoys the feeling of being around friends, family, and people who cherish writing as a creative expression.