Some doors should stay locked pt. 1

My name is Ryder, and this is the story of my last summer I will ever spend in my hometown again.

I just finished my finals for my sophomore year of college at NCU, and before I went back home to Memphis, I stayed at my girlfriend Leah’s house. We met at a summer camp where we had both worked the previous year. She was by far the most beautiful girl there, and once we started talking, sparks instantly started flying. The only downside to these sparks was that I lived 11 hours away. At first, she wasn't too thrilled about the idea of a long-distance relationship, but I was determined to make it work, and eventually, she came around to it as well. Throughout the school year, I would visit her house almost every weekend, as she lived only a few hours from my school, making the drive easy enough. After my finals were finished, I went and stayed with her for a whole week before I made the 11-hour trek back home. The drive home was long and exhausting, but I made it work. I probably consumed more than double the recommended daily caffeine intake, but who cares? It worked. On the way home, I decided to buy an engagement ring with my first paycheck, as I truly loved Leah and believed she felt the same way about me. I was hoping the paycheck from my summer job would be enough to cover it. I got a job cleaning and pressure washing the outside of 18-wheeler trailers while she was working as a bank teller for the summer. I was feeling somewhat confident that my pay would be close to half of hers, but wishful thinking was an understatement. Being that far apart for 3 months was not easy for either of us, but we promised to stay in touch through nightly FaceTime calls and daily texts, considering we would both have full-time jobs for the summer. I got home on June 1st, and since I didn’t start working until the 8th, I had a few days to lounge around the house, visit family, and catch up with old friends. On the 7th, I felt optimistic, but I also had a weird sense of caution and worry. I played those off as just first-job jitters and set my alarm to wake up at 7 A.M. I went to sleep. I jolted awake as the earsplitting sound of the iPhone alarm shook me from my dreams. As I rolled out of bed to get dressed and brush my teeth, the same feeling of caution and worry returned to me, but again, I shook those off as just nerves. After getting dressed and making the 30-minute drive to the jobsite, I pulled into the parking lot, which was made of loose rocks, gravel, and potholes. There, I saw a sign with my name on it, and in big, red, bold letters, it said “VIP FOR NOW”. The first time I read this, it didn’t process in my brain, but after re-reading it over and over again and blankly staring at each letter, “What?” finally escaped my lips. Immediately after saying that, I nearly jumped out of my skin by a hand knocking on my window so aggressively, I’m surprised the window didn’t shatter. As I whipped my head around to see who the hand belonged to, I was greeted by an old man whose skin was flabby and wrinkly, and it folded on itself like slices of meat that had gone bad, and his hair on the top of his head looked like frayed and jagged wires that were as white as snow. His nose hung down in front of his top lip like a ceiling tile full of water; none of these things were nearly as bad as his teeth, which looked like upside-down mountains that had been blown up with dynamite and then shoddily put back together by a child. They were so sharp I was surprised they didn’t cut his lips when he smiled, or what I hoped was a smile. “You gonna open the door or just sit there all day, boy?” The old man asked. “Sorry,” I said, opening the door and extending my hand to greet him. As I stuck my hand out, he looked at it for a few seconds. After inhaling, he said, “You haven’t earned that yet, but if you make it through the summer, you just might earn it.” I wanted to ask him what he meant. Still, just as I was about to ask him, he turned his back on me and motioned with his hand for me to follow on his hand was a ring that had the size of a silver ring with elegant vines engraved around the sides but it had a hole were the stone should be, I thought nothing of it and followed him. The building was not very wide, maybe 100 feet across. The building's real size was impressive, stretching nearly three football fields in length. The doors that trucks came in and out of were massive, brown garage doors that spanned from top to bottom. Above each door, there was a window that appeared to be made of stained glass, but each of them was covered in cobwebs and dust, making whatever design was on them impossible to see. As we entered the building, I was overtaken by the smell of old rusted metal and mildew so strong I gagged. “That’s everyone’s reaction, don’t worry, son, you’ll get used to it.” “What on earth is causing that smell?” I thought. “I never caught your name,” I said after swallowing what bit of vomit came up. “Larry,” the old man said harshly.From across the shop behind me, I heard a voice call out, “Already telling him your name? Wow, you must be desperate to get him going!” Turning around, I spotted a man walking toward us wearing a gray button-up uniform in work boots. His uniform was either way too tight or he was an avid gym-goer, because every time his arms swayed when he walked, the uniform stretched and pulled so tight it looked like it just might rip with the next step. He appeared considerably younger than Larry. This man looked to be in his early 20s, maybe 30s, fit, with dirty blonde hair, bright green eyes, and a scar on his left hand that reached under his uniform sleeve. “Not desperate, just….” Larry paused for a moment, looking me up and down, then continued, “curious.” “Name’s Will,” he said, extending his hand out to me. “Ryder,” I said, reaching out to meet his. “Has he told you what you’ll be doing for us here yet?” “I am here to wash the outsides of all the trailers,” I said. The smile Will had on his face instantly dropped as he coldly said, “Oh.” He could see the concern and confusion growing on my face so rapidly that the friendly manner quickly returned. “I just thought I might be getting a new person to help me in the shop, but I have a feeling you’ll do just fine working for Larry.” I have to work for this guy? I thought. Larry quickly rushed me to the station where I would be working and showed me where the trailers were going to be washed; luckily, it was all in the same area. He instructed me on how the trailers were to be cleaned, what cleaners to use, how to wipe them, and how to wash the product off. I was about to open the trailer back doors to see what was inside the trailer, and I felt a hand slam on each of my shoulders and flip me around to see Larry’s beet-red face full of an anger I had never seen before, inches away from mine. His scorching breath that smelled of tooth decay and whiskey slapping my face with every word he spoke as he said, “NEVER look at the inside of the trailers or you’ll be fired on the spot and the cops will be called instantly to come pick up the pieces of your face after I get through with you.” Immediately after saying this his old man demeanor returned. He turned and faced the shop, saying, peering over his shoulder, “Change of plans, go home and come back tomorrow ready to work.” I didn’t say anything as I started heading back to my car. I got to my car, and as I looked at the shop one last time before leaving, I noticed one of the windows above the garage doors had a ring that looked similar to the one Larry was wearing. I thought to myself, "That looks like the ring Larry has." Why do the windows have markings on them? I must have been standing there staring at the window for a while when I heard a whistle coming from the building. I looked to see where the whistle came from, and it was Larry standing with his hands behind his back, smiling. Feeling extremely uncomfortable, I sped out of the parking lot and went home as fast as I could.