An application of setting

Set-ting /’sediNG/

Noun

            The place or type of surroundings where something is positioned or where an event takes place.

            A speed, height, or temperature at which a machine or device can be adjusted to operate.

 

Underneath a set of ripped up sheets, on top of a mattress that lay dying on the floor. The sheets were a formality, a small symbol of decency. The basement was dark and cold nothing but cement block walls, sloping concrete floors, a decrepit table with milk crate chairs, and that mattress. Age fifteen.

 

 

A small shed behind a trailer home. Clearly scoped out a few nights before. The door was blue with three black two by fours angled across it. Chicken wire covered a long slender window on the side of the shed, like prison bars. Inside was tight, dark, moist. Everything inside felt displaced. Two stacks of mismatched landscaping stones, one half bag of mulch, three shovels and a garden hoe—handles worn down and broken. The contents all leftovers, long forgotten in darkness behind the closed door. Age sixteen.

 

 

The sister’s room. Lime green walls and Hello Kitty on the bed. Pictures of girls from middle school to high school—smiling, dancing, living. A tube tv on the dresser droning an obnoxious laugh track. The sound muffling the explanation that had to be repeated following the ‘no’.  A full length mirror reflected the advances as no was not accepted. Hello Kitty watched. Laugh track chimed in on cue. Age eighteen.

 

 

Underneath footsteps that creaked from above. Stomps between breaths that made a rhythm out of it all. Another basement. Surrounded by plastic rubber containers, shelves stacked with the contents of someone else’s life. A comforter hung from the ceiling dividing the corner into a makeshift room. Steps down the stairs. A stock freezer humming, its lid creaking as someone forages through frozen meats and processed meals. Naked lightbulbs stare back, their exposed wires mimicking the scene below. Age nineteen.

 

 

Smooth linoleum countertops and a small porcelain sink. The faucet ran, splashing warm drops everywhere. Cranberry exfoliating soap in a dispenser with a pump, a grey bath towel on the floor, a yellow one hanging from a steal bar by the shower. The shower curtain begged to be closed as it wilted from a handful of clear plastic rings. Age twenty.

 

 

A forest green sectional couch in the living room of a third floor apartment. Occupants were tucked behind closed doors that spread down a narrow hallway. Glass beer bottles and crumpled aluminum cans lost life on the coffee table near by. Garbled singing of drunken souls rattle through the unhinged screens of the large bay window behind the couch. Melting cheese and whiskey coated the air. a ping pong paddle formed a hard spot between the cushions that sag and swallow those who use them. Age 21.

 

 

A borrowed blanket and suitcase fresh from a 2000 mile ride. Blinds twisted half open and snores pierced paper-thin walls. A twin bed with a simple frame and matching wooden desk squeezed the rectangle room. Soft lips and whispered compliments snuck into the darkness. A cell phone charging on the bedpost fell to the floor. Socks keep feet warm.  Age 24.