Mold

Dear Dad,

Could you please ask the universe to stop beating me up? I’m tired of the dark cloud that follows me, the darkness that ensures that every step I take is plagued with problems and difficulties.

Last night, Kati and I were sitting in the living room when all of a sudden we heard water pouring down in the closet next to the television. Kati pulled open the door and we saw it gushing from the ceiling, running down the wall like a waterfall and pooling on the floor. I ran downstairs to see if there was water there as well, and sure enough it was streaming down onto all the plastic bins filled with books that we had tucked into a the corner. While Kati ran upstairs to tell G3 to hurry up and get out of the shower as quickly as possible, I moved the bins out of the flooding zone. Kati came down to help. Once the downstairs could flood without causing damage to our things, we raced back upstairs to pull all of our board games out of the closet. The cardboard game boxes sitting on top of each pile on the shelves were waterlogged. We wiped them down as best as we could, opened them up and set them on the living room floor to dry. Some of the games are really old. They are games we took from the house in Mattituck, games that once upon a time you played with us. Life was probably the wettest. But it wasn’t destroyed. Considering how many times I played that game with Libby when I was a kid, I would have been devastated if it had been. 

So much for going to bed early on the night G3 didn’t have any activities. Once the closet was cleared out and the water flow slowed to a drip, Kati contacted the landlord. She tried to tell us she’d have someone out to fix the problem on Friday, but that was completely unacceptable. We demanded that someone come out first thing in the morning. Of course, first thing in the morning we hadn’t heard anything. So I texted the landlord to let her know that Rota Rooter was open and that there was no reason she shouldn’t call and get them here at once. It was awhile before she texted me back, but when she did, she promised the plumber would be here by nine. 

The plumber assumed the problem was going to be one pipe, the pipe that’s in the ceiling of the living room closet. However, when he cut a hole in the ceiling he discovered that was not the case. He pulled away a large panel from the ceiling that had a large spot of black mold. The leak he said wasn’t recent. Water had been dripping in the ceiling and in the walls for a long time. He went back upstairs and cut a hold in another wall to gain access to the pipe in the wall beside the shower. That was the pipe that was rusted away and broken apart. It was an easy fix, once he ran out to the store to buy the correct part. 

So the shower is fixed. But there is an even bigger problem now. Moisture lives in the walls along with mold that has been growing for who knows how long. The plumber told me that the landlord said she had no intention to pay for water restoration—drying out the house and clearing out the mold. It’s too expensive, she said, and she doesn’t have insurance for it. When I asked her what she was going to do about the mold, she said it would be taken care of. Something may have been lost in translation, she speaks very little English. But my sense is she was lying to me. She has less to lose in being honest when speaking to the plumber, plus most of his correspondence was with the landlord’s daughter on the phone. In that conversation, nothing would have been lost in translation. 

Needless to say, between the sewage pipe that is not going to get fixed properly and the mold growing throughout the house we need to get out of here ASAP. We’ve already started looking. The only town we will consider is Bridgewater (or Rarita). The school district is better. It was rank 10th in New Jersey. Not as great as some districts, but tenth is definitely better than where we are. Besides, it’s the only town that would make for a tolerable commute for me and Kati to work and G3 to go to Taekowndo. (If you know anyone who is selling or renting in Bridgewater, please let me know.)

Yes, you read that correctly. My commute to work. I’m supposed to start work tomorrow teaching English in the high school in Perth Amboy. But I’m well aware of the cloud that haunts me. The bad luck that permeates my life. I won’t be surprised if I get a call tonight saying, “Just kidding. We found someone we like better.” Because people liking me has always been an issue. I am not the easiest person to get along with or to like. 

But, if it works out, that will definitely help us move, help us get out of Middlesex and this moldy environment. I would have preferred a literary agent, and step toward the career I would really like to have. But teaching pays better than dreaming.

I miss you!