Time Of Our Lives

Oscar

“The neighbour chick sounds hot,” Blake says, dropping onto the sofa I was just trying to move. “We should invite her to our party. She says she has a guy, but you know that doesn’t mean anything.”

I roll my eyes, more than a little annoyed by my friend. “You wanna help with this, or should I just move it with you on top?” I ask, gesturing at the sofa.

“You know what we need? Music.” Without acknowledging my question, he pops up and rushes out of the room.

I thought my brain was chaos, but Blake’s is a whole other level. It’s hard to keep up with him. We may have that commonality in an ADHD diagnosis and using martial arts to help with mental discipline, but that’s where our similarities end. He’s social, outgoing, and never quiet. I’m reserved, discerning, and prefer to spend hours with my guitar than other people. Yet, somehow, our friendship works.

Even if I’m left to move furniture on my own while he flakes off to hook up his playlist to the built-in Bluetooth speakers. Speakers that are now pumping out techno music. Not my first choice for a moving soundtrack, but that’s just another difference between us.

“This is going to be epic,” Austin says as he drops a box of textbooks on the living room floor in front of the built-in bookshelves.

“Are you to blame for this?” I ask, pointing up at the thumping speakers.

Given that he’s the resident tech expert, I’d be willing to bet Blake didn’t figure out how to connect his phone that fast. Technology is not his strong suit.

“Lighten up, Ozzie. Maybe we’ll find you a girl to help you loosen up a little.”

I scoff at that for a couple of reasons. One, I hate that nickname. Two, the last thing I need is a girl to loosen up. Unlike my three roommates, I don’t have the same unrelenting drive to pursue a new girl each week. My unrelenting drive is reserved for the muay thai gym, proper music, and finishing my degree so I never have to take another test.

I continue moving the second-hand sofa we inherited into a better position. “Let’s get moved in before you start playing matchmaker, eh?”

“It wouldn’t kill you to—”

“Party’s set for next Friday!” Blake whoops as he re-enters the living room with Keith right behind.

At least he’s sweating like he’s actually been working.

Austin turns and high-fives them both, then attempts to do the same to me. I leave him hanging.

“Buzz kill alert,” he chides. “Somebody get this guy a drink.”

Again, I roll my eyes and seriously reconsider my living arrangements for my sophomore year. “I’m not drinking. If you’re planning to have people here in a week, you can at least, you know… help?”

Keith throws his arm around my shoulders, confirming he was, in fact, working—and sweating. “We’ll get it done, Ozzie. Classes don’t start for four days. Relax.”

Relaxing is one thing I don’t do. Ever. My brain doesn’t allow it. I’m either asleep or on the move, at all times. I don’t bother trying to explain that to him. He has a normal brain that experiences silence. It’s hard to relate to someone who doesn’t quite get what it’s like living with thoughts that never shut off.

“This is our first time with real freedom. No parents, no RAs, no dorm rules. Just chill. This year will be epic.” Keith removes his arm, then drops onto the sofa beside Blake. “Let’s just enjoy the moment.”

“I’d enjoy it a lot more if we got all of our stuff from the truck and returned it, so we’re not blocking the whole street.” And I’d be happy if I never hear the word “epic” again for the rest of my life.

Without waiting to see if any of them get the hint, I return outside to gather the rest of our things. As I walk up the ramp into the back of the truck, I glance over at the neighbour’s house. Every single window is blocked by blinds or curtains, so I don’t have the slightest hint at what’s happening inside or who lives there. I saw the blonde wearing scrubs walk in earlier. She had her arms full of stuffed bags and looked to be cradling something, but I only caught a glimpse.

Blake may have based his assumption on her voice, but from what I saw, he’s not wrong. She is objectively hot, even in something as unflattering as scrubs. She didn’t look any older than me, though, so I wonder what line of work she’s in.

I chalk off the curiosity to my overactive brain and get back to work.

Keep busy. Stay focused. Don’t let my mind wander. And definitely don’t waste time thinking about the neighbour.

The start of a new school year once you get to university age is anti-climactic. Three hours of classes and a quarter of my summer savings spent on textbooks. At least I was able to sell a few back from last year, but since I only worked two months over the summer, I don’t have a lot of spending money to play with. Especially when I’m paying $1000 a month for rent.

That’s why my coaching job at the gym is so important. I didn’t spend thousands of dollars of my grandparents’ money to go to Thailand and get my muay thai clinic certifications just for kicks. No pun intended.

I was lucky enough that Tyrus was looking for a muay thai coach at his kickboxing gym, so as soon as I mentioned I got my certifications, he hired me on the spot. Getting hired is only a minor detail compared to arranging my schedule around my classes to make me worth employing. Most of my classes are mid-day, so I can coach in the mornings and evenings, depending on demand.

Not only is today my first day of classes, it’s my first day at my new job too. And I’m already running late.

I bound down the steps of our front porch with my gym bag slung over my shoulder, excited for the new challenge coaching will present. Anything challenging keeps my brain engaged, making it easier to focus on the task. It’s when things get easy that they become an issue. That’s part of the appeal of muay thai. No belts to give you a sense of accomplishment. There is always something to perfect and always something else to learn.

“Brad?” a woman’s screaming stops me in my tracks before I reach the sidewalk.

Not only her screaming, but the grey dog running toward me makes me pause as well.

“Brad?” she shouts again.

I look up to see the blonde run out from between her house and her other neighbour’s. She looks beside herself with worry. The small dog jumps up at my leg, but I shake it off, noting its name tag dangling from its collar. Looking at the shape of his face, I recognize it for what it is.

“Brad?” she calls one last time, still partially shielded by her porch.

“You named your dog Brad?” I ask, trying to keep the tiny terrorist from wiping more dirt on my track pants.

She peeks her head around the corner of her porch, scanning both directions until her eyes land on me. “Y-yes…”

“He’s right here. Attacking my legs.”

“What?” She steps forward, turning her focus to her dog. Then she jogs over and picks him up, clutching him to her chest. “Thank you.”

“Your dog is a menace.”

Suddenly, every ounce of worry and nervousness she demonstrated a second ago disappears. Her eyebrows, which are several shades darker than her brassy blonde hair, narrow together. “He is not. He’s twelve pounds.”

“A twelve-pound menace. You know about BSL, right? Pit bulls are illegal to own in Ontario.”

Her eyebrows inch closer together, creating deep lines between them. Her dark eyes glower at me with a surprising intensity. “He’s not a menace. You’re part of the reason breed-specific legislation exists.”

“Because I’m logical and don’t get suckered by puppy-dog eyes?”

“No. Because you’re judgmental and feed on stereotypes instead of seeing things at face value!”

“If you want to live with a vicious dog, that’s your business, but don’t expect me to call the coroner when it’s eating your rotting corpse.”

She scrunches her face and pauses, as if she’s picturing that graphic scene. “Oh, don’t worry. I won’t be asking you for any favours, neighbour.”

I step inches closer, but that causes her to step back a couple of feet. Her dramatic reaction doesn’t deter me from what I want to say, though.

“Keep him in your yard or I’ll report you to the city. You’re lucky I wasn’t some kid that he ripped the face off of.”

“Are you serious?” she shouts, but immediately shrinks back. “He’s twelve pounds. He slipped out through a hole in the fence that I didn’t know was there. Get over yourself.”

“Get over myself? You’re the one with the illegal dog that you can’t keep control of.” I scoff, finally remembering why I’m outside to begin with. “Some of us are law-abiding citizens and have jobs to keep, so if you don’t mind…”

I don’t give her the chance to shout anything else at me before I’m walking down the road toward the gym. Now I really need a chance to work out some of my frustration.