plans, and there are no cards in my mailbox. I’m having dessert for breakfast, a treat to myself, and I’m thankful for what little I have.
It’s sad as hell, but I don’t have any candles so I light a match and jam it in the middle of the damn cookie. I don’t even make a wish before I blow out the tiny flame so it doesn’t burn down and ruin my treat.
No sooner than the flame’s gone out, there’s a knock at my door. I look at my dollar store wall clock and see it’s only nine. I can't imagine who would be at my door this early on a Saturday morning. Most of my neighbors sleep in after a late Friday night.
Even though I’m twenty-one, I tend to think of myself as more mature than most people my age, so when I open the door and see a girl, petite and fragile in appearance, I automatically think she’s young. She may even be my age, maybe younger, but my experience makes me feel like I’m over thirty, so she seems like a girl to me.
She’s standing there smiling as if she doesn’t have a care in the world, obviously not knowing people around here don’t smile. I peer at her through the ripped screen of my front door as the heat and humidity of the day filters in.
“Hey, what’s up? I’m Emily. I just moved in next door.”
~Window~
I’m staring, which is something I don’t make a habit of. Eye contact typically invites people into conversations, and I’m not a fan of chit-chat. I stand in the doorway with an awkward pause, like I’m unfamiliar with waving as an appropriate means to say hello. My pause before I answer her is a pace too long, and the situation is somewhat uncomfortable as I stand there waiting for her to offer up more information. More importantly, I want to know why she’s knocking on my door, and I hope it’s not so we can get to know each other.
Since several more seconds pass without further exchange, I finally cave in and offer myself up. “Hey, I’m Ethan,” I say wanting to keep it simple. I don’t want to get sucked into a conversation with her, but I don’t want to be rude, either. She can tell I’m a little put out with her presence, so she gets right to the point. The last thing I need is an overly perky neighbor who thinks we’re “pals.”
“Sorry, I was just having trouble getting a window open. It’s going to be a hot one, you know, and I don’t have the electricity turned on yet. They want some freaking deposit since I don’t have a credit history. It’s like, ‘Hello, I’m living in a crappy house, in a crappy neighborhood. If I had good credit, I wouldn’t be living here.’ Anyway, I want to get the window open to get air moving through, and I think it’s painted shut. I don’t want to be all ‘damsel in distress,’ but I can’t pry the darn thing open…”
My thoughts trail off and I realize this is the most anyone has said to me in years. Perky girl is still talking, but I’m continuously distracted by her mere presence and the fact that her chest spills over the top of her tank. She’s pretty cute, but I try not to dwell on her appearance as lustful thoughts won’t lead anywhere good.
“So you think you could come help me?” I know I missed some information in there, but I’m not going to ask for clarification or for her to repeat it.
“Sure, no problem.”
I follow behind her, but at a safe distance. I don’t want the offer of my help and me being polite to some girl mistaken for flirting. It sounds conceited, but it’s happened before. It’s better not to give them any sense of false hope. I mind my own business and live my life; today will be no exception. She shows me the window in question, and sure enough, it’s painted shut. I roll my eyes at the incredibly inept and lazy maintenance people for doing a half-assed paint job.
“Um, I’ll be right back. I’ll have to get something to cut this open.” I turn to head out her front door, but she stops me.
“Oh, wait. Like a box cutter? I have one of those. I
It’s sad as hell, but I don’t have any candles so I light a match and jam it in the middle of the damn cookie. I don’t even make a wish before I blow out the tiny flame so it doesn’t burn down and ruin my treat.
No sooner than the flame’s gone out, there’s a knock at my door. I look at my dollar store wall clock and see it’s only nine. I can't imagine who would be at my door this early on a Saturday morning. Most of my neighbors sleep in after a late Friday night.
Even though I’m twenty-one, I tend to think of myself as more mature than most people my age, so when I open the door and see a girl, petite and fragile in appearance, I automatically think she’s young. She may even be my age, maybe younger, but my experience makes me feel like I’m over thirty, so she seems like a girl to me.
She’s standing there smiling as if she doesn’t have a care in the world, obviously not knowing people around here don’t smile. I peer at her through the ripped screen of my front door as the heat and humidity of the day filters in.
“Hey, what’s up? I’m Emily. I just moved in next door.”
~Window~
I’m staring, which is something I don’t make a habit of. Eye contact typically invites people into conversations, and I’m not a fan of chit-chat. I stand in the doorway with an awkward pause, like I’m unfamiliar with waving as an appropriate means to say hello. My pause before I answer her is a pace too long, and the situation is somewhat uncomfortable as I stand there waiting for her to offer up more information. More importantly, I want to know why she’s knocking on my door, and I hope it’s not so we can get to know each other.
Since several more seconds pass without further exchange, I finally cave in and offer myself up. “Hey, I’m Ethan,” I say wanting to keep it simple. I don’t want to get sucked into a conversation with her, but I don’t want to be rude, either. She can tell I’m a little put out with her presence, so she gets right to the point. The last thing I need is an overly perky neighbor who thinks we’re “pals.”
“Sorry, I was just having trouble getting a window open. It’s going to be a hot one, you know, and I don’t have the electricity turned on yet. They want some freaking deposit since I don’t have a credit history. It’s like, ‘Hello, I’m living in a crappy house, in a crappy neighborhood. If I had good credit, I wouldn’t be living here.’ Anyway, I want to get the window open to get air moving through, and I think it’s painted shut. I don’t want to be all ‘damsel in distress,’ but I can’t pry the darn thing open…”
My thoughts trail off and I realize this is the most anyone has said to me in years. Perky girl is still talking, but I’m continuously distracted by her mere presence and the fact that her chest spills over the top of her tank. She’s pretty cute, but I try not to dwell on her appearance as lustful thoughts won’t lead anywhere good.
“So you think you could come help me?” I know I missed some information in there, but I’m not going to ask for clarification or for her to repeat it.
“Sure, no problem.”
I follow behind her, but at a safe distance. I don’t want the offer of my help and me being polite to some girl mistaken for flirting. It sounds conceited, but it’s happened before. It’s better not to give them any sense of false hope. I mind my own business and live my life; today will be no exception. She shows me the window in question, and sure enough, it’s painted shut. I roll my eyes at the incredibly inept and lazy maintenance people for doing a half-assed paint job.
“Um, I’ll be right back. I’ll have to get something to cut this open.” I turn to head out her front door, but she stops me.
“Oh, wait. Like a box cutter? I have one of those. I
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