WRITE A PIECE ABOUT A NUMBER THAT IS IMPORTANT TO SOMEONE

 NUMBERS

414 Maybell St. Marley had the address memorized but she couldn’t help but look down at the blue paper she held in her hand, her late mother's handwriting scrawled across the page. It was now or never, she knew that, but taking the first step was always the hardest. With a deep breath, she looked both ways and stepped off the curb. The crosswalk would take her to the even number side of Maybell.

As she counted down the addresses, she took in the nuance of the neighborhood she had never stepped foot in before. In fact, she had never set foot in this town either. This part of the street was scattered with local businesses; boutiques, quaint café’s and a doctor’s office or two. It was a pretty town, with brightly colored awnings and people with happy smiling faces that nodded hello.

At the end of the block, a crosswalk took her across 2nd street into a quiet little residential area. The houses that lined the street, behind the tall, colorful trees, were like something out of a fairytale. Not much more than cottages, each had its own charm and color scheme with flowers and green grass in the yard. And each had a white picket fence.

Walking a little closer to the fences, she was able to finally see an address, 514. She was almost there. Despite feeling like she wanted to turn around and run back to her broken-down car in the parking lot of the grocery store, she kept on moving. This had to be done or she would wonder forever.

Somehow she knew the house when she saw it. The house she’d tried to imagine a million times was painted a buttery shade of yellow with lilac-colored shutters and a matching front door. Sure enough, when she looked up, the number 414 stared back at her.

Saying a little prayer, she opened the gate and walked up the sidewalk, barely noticing the flowers that lined the brick path. She suddenly felt cold and she knew she was shaking as evidenced when she reached up and pressed the doorbell.

 “Hello, may I help you,” came a man’s voice from the side of the house.

 Marley startled and turned toward him. “Ummm…yeah…are you…are you, Charlie Peterson?”

 “Yes,” the man said, cocking his head and running his eyes up and down her.

 Marley stood there, unable to speak for a moment. “I…”

 “What can I do for you, miss?”

 “I…I think you’re my father.”