I slip to the back. There are wooden picket fences almost six feet high between all the yards. I’m sure back in the fifties they were whitewashed every year or maybe in the fifties they didn’t need fences. Maybe back then people just talked to their next door neighbors. By crossing into the yard directly behind ours I avoid the fences. The next street over doesn’t have any. I have no idea why.
The back of Dickey’s house is dark. I have to slip between a row of overgrown evergreens to actually get in the yard, but after that, it’s a cake walk. The grass is mowed short and wet cut greens stick to my shoes . I wonder who cuts Dickey’s grass. This thought comes to me because I used to be the grass cutting guy for this grassy knoll conspiracy Dickey is now a part of.
The two patio chairs sit in the darkness of his back porch just as I recall them. On one arm, there are several divots left by me trying to open bottles. I should have kissed her . The screen door spring whines when pulled open. A very large spider web spreads across the glass on the door, but up close I can tell it’s on the inside of the window. That’s right, he doesn’t actually live here now . When I twist the knob it doesn’t budge. The romantic idea that it would be open is dashed; I drop into the nearest chair and sulk. It’s deadly quiet, crickets and the like long gone this late in the Fall. It’s peaceful and I let my thoughts drift and doze off.
The whine of the screen door spring jolts me awake. Before I can turn around a hand holds a beer over my shoulder, dangling it there. I pause before taking it, but the hand wiggles it as if ringing a tiny bell. The scent of lavender bath soap fills my nose.
“Come on,” Izzy’s voice begs. “You know you want it.”
“We have to stop meeting like this,” I suggest, taking the beer.
“You’re probably right,” she admits, dropping into the opposite chair.
“How you been?”
“Not bad. Graham says you’re out for good.”
“Yes, discharged.”
“Honorably?” she muses, looking at me while she tips up her bottle.
I nod.
“And what’s next?” she inquires, turning sideways and pulling her legs underneath her, careful to fold the hem of her dress under one knee. “Coming back here maybe?”
“Not sure, I get the impression Graham would prefer I didn’t.”
“You always do what he tells you?”
“Up to now,” I answer, sitting up and sliding to the front of my chair.
“I’d have thought you got enough of doing what you’re told in the Army?”
I nod.
She sips on her beer, staring back at me. I rise, tipping up my beer and finishing it in a long chug. When I look back she points at the door, indicating there is more inside. I wiggle a finger at hers, but she shakes her head slowly, holding it up to show me it’s still half full.
“I’m good,” she winks.
Pulling open the screen, I slip inside. The light in the fridge doesn’t come on when I open it. Warm musty air flows out like a fog. It’s unplugged or the powers out . I wait a moment for my eyes to adjust, but there isn’t anything inside. I try the freezer door above, but find it likewise devoid of beer. Behind me the screen door announces her entrance. When I turn she’s leaning her back on the counter behind me pointing at a brown bag sitting in front of an old wooden bread box. The box is white with primary colored polka dots. The words WONDER BREAD are emblazoned on the top.
“Icebox doesn’t work,” she whispers.
“Right.”
Moving slowly, I go to her, stopping a bit too close for good taste. I dig for a beer with my right hand, while putting the other on the counter past her left hip. Before I can pull out a bottle, she sets hers behind her back and tosses both arms around my neck. Caught off guard, I am still fishing for a bottle when she pushes herself up on her tip toes and whispers in my ear.
“Are you really that thirsty?”
“Ah, no,” I stammer, my nerve suddenly
The back of Dickey’s house is dark. I have to slip between a row of overgrown evergreens to actually get in the yard, but after that, it’s a cake walk. The grass is mowed short and wet cut greens stick to my shoes . I wonder who cuts Dickey’s grass. This thought comes to me because I used to be the grass cutting guy for this grassy knoll conspiracy Dickey is now a part of.
The two patio chairs sit in the darkness of his back porch just as I recall them. On one arm, there are several divots left by me trying to open bottles. I should have kissed her . The screen door spring whines when pulled open. A very large spider web spreads across the glass on the door, but up close I can tell it’s on the inside of the window. That’s right, he doesn’t actually live here now . When I twist the knob it doesn’t budge. The romantic idea that it would be open is dashed; I drop into the nearest chair and sulk. It’s deadly quiet, crickets and the like long gone this late in the Fall. It’s peaceful and I let my thoughts drift and doze off.
The whine of the screen door spring jolts me awake. Before I can turn around a hand holds a beer over my shoulder, dangling it there. I pause before taking it, but the hand wiggles it as if ringing a tiny bell. The scent of lavender bath soap fills my nose.
“Come on,” Izzy’s voice begs. “You know you want it.”
“We have to stop meeting like this,” I suggest, taking the beer.
“You’re probably right,” she admits, dropping into the opposite chair.
“How you been?”
“Not bad. Graham says you’re out for good.”
“Yes, discharged.”
“Honorably?” she muses, looking at me while she tips up her bottle.
I nod.
“And what’s next?” she inquires, turning sideways and pulling her legs underneath her, careful to fold the hem of her dress under one knee. “Coming back here maybe?”
“Not sure, I get the impression Graham would prefer I didn’t.”
“You always do what he tells you?”
“Up to now,” I answer, sitting up and sliding to the front of my chair.
“I’d have thought you got enough of doing what you’re told in the Army?”
I nod.
She sips on her beer, staring back at me. I rise, tipping up my beer and finishing it in a long chug. When I look back she points at the door, indicating there is more inside. I wiggle a finger at hers, but she shakes her head slowly, holding it up to show me it’s still half full.
“I’m good,” she winks.
Pulling open the screen, I slip inside. The light in the fridge doesn’t come on when I open it. Warm musty air flows out like a fog. It’s unplugged or the powers out . I wait a moment for my eyes to adjust, but there isn’t anything inside. I try the freezer door above, but find it likewise devoid of beer. Behind me the screen door announces her entrance. When I turn she’s leaning her back on the counter behind me pointing at a brown bag sitting in front of an old wooden bread box. The box is white with primary colored polka dots. The words WONDER BREAD are emblazoned on the top.
“Icebox doesn’t work,” she whispers.
“Right.”
Moving slowly, I go to her, stopping a bit too close for good taste. I dig for a beer with my right hand, while putting the other on the counter past her left hip. Before I can pull out a bottle, she sets hers behind her back and tosses both arms around my neck. Caught off guard, I am still fishing for a bottle when she pushes herself up on her tip toes and whispers in my ear.
“Are you really that thirsty?”
“Ah, no,” I stammer, my nerve suddenly
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