Narrative Essay On James Patterson

It was the end of fall. I sat on the back porch with a blanket across my lap and the newest James Patterson. I wasn't reading, but examining the leaves that had fallen in the backyard. I remembered Paul and Kat raking them into piles when they were younger. Kat would run from the trampoline that no longer sat in our backyard and flop into the crackling brown and yellow leaves. I always watched from the same spot on the porch, entertained from her laughter and seeing her body shake with joy. “Julie,” Paul said from behind me. “I need to talk to you.” My heart, so distant, sped up that second. I thought of the light I had turned on when Travis kissed me months before. A spotlight.

“I think we should sell the house,” Paul said. I thought of so many things then, staring at Paul’s face as he sat across from me, every deep wrinkle running straight, just like his lips, his brow line.

I listened to Diane’s velvety voice asking me to please leave a message.

***

It arrived on a Friday. I turned the small, weightless man over in my hands, feeling his slick, peculiar shape. Joseph had a beard and long hair that parted down the middle and fell over his ears. In his hands sat a tiny home. His head was bowed and his eyes closed in prayer.

I read the instructions: Set the Saint Joseph statue so he is looking out the window at the FOR SALE sign. Pray to Saint Joseph every day and wait as he sells your home. For best results, bury Saint Joseph head first by the sign. Remember, the prayer should come from your heart! I sat on the windowsill mocking Joseph and looking outside when Paul noticed him. He walked across the mudroom once he got home from work, set his briefcase at my feet, and plucked the statue from his spot.

“What is this?”

“It's a Saint Joseph statue. Supposed to help sell your home.”

I hadn't looked at Paul, but I could feel it. His judgment, his lack of understanding.

“Really,