Get It Started

Oscar

Can’t say I’ve ever been hit by a car before, but today, I came close. It was partly my fault for not paying attention because I was lost in my head. Oddly enough, I was thinking about what Frankie might have said if I stuck around last night. Maybe her taking me out would have been poetic justice, but in this case, I don’t think the punishment would fit the crime.

“Who peed in your protein shake?” Blake asks as I stomp into the foyer. “You mad at the rain?”

I roll my eyes, not really in the mood for conversation. “Nah, I’m mad that our house got trashed again and because I almost got run over.”

“Run over? By what?”

“A car,” I deadpan. “Frankie’s car.”

“Was Frankie driving it?”

I have serious concerns about this guy sometimes. “Yes, she was driving. Probably distracted by that dog in the backseat.”

“What’s your problem with Brad?”

“He’s illegal.”

Blake returns my eye-roll, then takes a sip of his incredibly pale coffee. “I know you’re a stickler for the rules, man, but he’s not hurting anyone. Take it easy on her.”

“Take it easy on her? She just tried to run me over. With. Her. Car.”

Instead of standing around, arguing with my friend over a topic we’ll never agree on, I tell him I need to shower and change. He leaves it at that, but there’s a good chance he’ll bring it up again later.

For now, I’ll get dried off and spend the rest of the day struggling through course work. It’s hard enough when my brain isn’t inundated with a thousand different thoughts, but right now, it’ll be near impossible.

Thursdays are my busiest day this semester, but the payoff is that my roommates all have evening classes. At least I get the house to myself after hours of coaching and classes. That thought propels me out the door, knowing I’ll be able to come home to some much needed peace and quiet.

That promise of some peace is crushed when I exit the house to find my angry neighbour in her front yard.

“Do you have to put your garbage bins there? Every time it gets windy, I end up with trash blown all over my yard.”

I stare at Frankie, who is currently picking up plastic cups littered across her grass. She’s in regular clothes, and I’d have to be blind not to notice how different she looks in leggings and a fitted jacket than scrubs or sweats. Especially when she bends over to grab a cup from under a plant lining her pathway.

When she stands back up, I clear my throat to answer, “Where do you suggest we put them?”

“On the other side of your house. Is it really so hard?” She still refuses to make eye contact with me, and I don’t know if she’s just that angry or she wants to avoid talking about her attempted vehicular manslaughter.

Based on our previous encounters, it could have been first-degree murder. Wouldn’t surprise me one bit if it was premeditated.

“Right. Let me show you something.” I wave for her to follow me the few feet to the other side of our house. To the exact spot where the neighbouring row house attaches. “Should I just ask them if I can keep the bins in their living room or…?”

She scoffs, spinning on her heel to walk back over to her yard. “You could at least make sure they stay closed so your trash isn’t blowing all over my yard.”

Yeah, we could, but I bet if Blake had been the one to walk out the door just now, she wouldn’t have come at him with her fangs out like a rabid pit bull. She seems to reserve this reaction for me.

“Talk to Blake about it. He’ll be happy to help,” I reply with a little more bite to my voice than I intended.

But really, why is it always me she accuses? It’s not my fault we had a wicked wind storm overnight. I’m not the Big Bad Wolf she seems to think I am, huffing and puffing to make her life miserable.

She’s been to both of our parties. I’ve had nothing to do with either of them, yet she still blames me for everything. Even after I tried to help, she still had a problem. I’m starting to think we rented a house next to the most frustrating woman on the planet.

Instead of hanging around for her to find something new to complain about, I continue down the path without offering to help again. I reach the sidewalk and add, “Keep your eyes on the road this time so you don’t kill anyone, eh?”

Her glare transforms into a more softened expression as her cheeks flush. If I have to hold her dangerous driving over her head to keep her from ripping mine off every time I walk out the door, so be it. I’m sick of her assuming the worst of me while my roommates, who are actually the ones to blame, get off scot-free.

They can be the ones to deal with her from now on.

My mom called to check in when I was on my way home, which helped ease my mind. Some people would call me a momma’s boy—Blake does—but she’s always been supportive of me and taught me to embrace the things that make me different, rather than silence them. Without her and my dad advocating for me, I probably wouldn’t have made it through high school. I love my parents, and I’m not embarrassed to admit that.

So when she asked about our accommodations, I didn’t hesitate to tell her about our frustrating neighbour. My mom is the type of person to launch an entire revolution when she feels something is unjust—which is often something as trivial as the price of her morning coffee—so I had to talk her down from driving here to tell Frankie off. I have no doubt my mom would have put an end to the conflict once and for all. For some reason, I find that disappointing.

Just because Frankie’s pit bull attacked me, doesn’t mean I need to send mine after her.

Now, having vented my frustrations to my mom, I can spend the rest of the evening in peace. At least, that was my plan before Austin walks up the stairs from the basement, wrapped in a blanket, with his hair tied in a poofy bun atop his head.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, a little snarkier than I should have.

He sucks in a loud sniffle. “Sick. Dying. Send help.”

“Have you been here all day?”

“Uh-huh.” He starts hacking his head off, covering his mouth with his blanket.

“Do you have any meds? Need me to grab something?” Yeah, I want him to feel better, but I also want to stay as far away from him as possible. I can’t afford to get sick, so I’ll run to the store to create some distance if I have to.

“I need drugs, Ozzie. Hard drugs. Decongestants. Nasal spray. Throat lozenges. Bourbon. The smelly stuff you can rub on my chest. All of it.”

So much for a quiet night alone to get some work done.

“Go back to bed. I’ll run out and grab you something.” I walk toward the front door to create more distance, then yell back, “But I’m not rubbing anything on your chest.”

“You’re a champ, man. I’ll take whatever I can get. Hard drugs, okay? The good stuff,” he confirms as he rounds the corner to go back downstairs.

“Got it.”

I slip on my shoes, then open the door, only to find that it’s pouring out. I also find my neighbour pulling her car up along the curb. At least I was still on the front steps, so she couldn’t run me over.

She steps out with a hoodie pulled up and makes her way across the sidewalk toward her pathway, but she freezes before reaching the cobblestone.

If looks could kill… I’d be safe and sound, because that doesn’t look like the angry glare I was expecting. Her soft dark eyes and light pink cheeks look almost angelic, but I’m not foolish enough to fall for it.

“Do you have some weird addiction to walking in the rain?” she asks, her voice barely loud enough to hear over the water pelting my surroundings.

“No,” I reply, approaching the end of our pathway. Honestly, I’m not thrilled about going out in the rain because I could still end up sick, which I was trying to avoid. I was lucky enough to escape a head cold from coming home the other night. “Austin is sick. He wants hard drugs.”

Her eyes widen as rain saturates her hood. “You’re going to get him drugs?”

“Hard drugs.” I nod. “Decongestant. Nasal spray. Throat lozenges.” I don’t mention the chest rub, because I’m still trying to rid that vision from my head.

“Oh.” She lifts a hand to her chest. “Do you want a ride?” she asks, her cheeks deepening in colour.

“Would I be any safer inside the car than out?”

“Forget it. But don’t blame me when you can’t find any of the ‘hard drugs’ you’re looking for at this pathetic drug store.” She rolls her eyes and hooks her thumb to point toward the exact place I was headed.

She steps forward to walk past, but I stop her with words that surprise us both.

“Actually… would you mind?” Once the sentence spills out, I refuse to acknowledge that my decision has anything to do with her and everything to do with not wanting to miss time at work because I’m sick.

“Fine. Get in.” She presses the unlock button on her key so the lights flash.

I glance back at the house, double checking that Austin isn’t watching out the small basement window. He’d no doubt relay this encounter to Blake, who would find a way to irritate me over it. The coast is clear, so I jog around the passenger side and hop in. The seat is so close to the dashboard, I nearly get stuck with my knees in my chest.

“Sorry. You can move it back.” Frankie shrugs, sliding the key in the ignition. As soon as the engine turns over, the small screen lights up, indicating the car is connected to her phone’s playlist.

I honestly expected her to be the type to listen to talk radio or complete silence, so I’m surprised to hear a Spanish Pitbull song pump through the speakers. I glance at her, but I don’t ask. It’s just one more annoying thing that she and Blake have in common. One more difference between us.

One more reason I stay silent from the second we pull away from the curb until we return fifteen minutes later.