His footsteps stop, and I can tell from the light underneath my door that he has turned to face me. I also know, without getting up, that he is looking in my peephole, though he knows, from every other experience, he can’t see anything inside.
“You freak me out when you do that.” His words are muffled, almost too quiet, but my one sensitive ear easily picks up the phrase.
“You’d hate it even more if someone went in and stole all of your crap.”
“Yeah.” He turns, his footsteps retreating, and I hear the final click of his door being pulled tight. Then he’s back, and I can tell from his pace that he’s about to ask me something. “When are you … uh … getting …”
“On the first. You know that. My order always comes on the first.”
“Okay. I’m just a little low.”
“Ration.”
He pauses, and then starts to move again.
“Simon.”
“Yeah?”
“You were late last night.”
“Yeah, I had, uh … some things—”
“Simon,” I speak slowly and clearly, so there is no room for him to misunderstand. “If you are late again, I will stop the orders.”
“Yeah, yeah. I won’t be. I promise. You know I won’t. Promise.”
He waits for a moment, and I don’t respond, spooning a forkful of rice into my mouth. Then he moves, the plastic swoosh of my garbage as he picks up the bag and moves down the hall. Along with locking me in at night, Simon also carries my trash downstairs. I leave it outside the door, and he takes it to the dumpster out back. I hear him at the elevator, and hear the car as it starts upward toward him. Past the elevator, I can’t hear much of anything. As strong as my hearing is in my left ear, it doesn’t make up for the inability of my other. I am hard of hearing in my right ear. It is not a condition I was born with, but rather the sole result of an accident that happened several years ago. I’ve never told anyone about the defect, as it doesn’t seem to affect my daily life, and certainly doesn’t seem worth a doctor’s visit or surgery to fix it. I almost like the additional quiet. It is another layer between the outside world and me.
I discard the second half of my TV dinner and check my watch. Time to get back online.
CHAPTER 19: Annie
Annie had a relatively small family, at least compared to Molly, her bestest friend in the whole world. Molly had three brothers, two aunts, five uncles and two sets of grandparents; not to mention a stepmother, in addition to her mommy and daddy. Molly’s house was always super busy at Christmas, with everyone running around and acting all crazy, and enough presents to make Annie think—just think—about sneaking one out under her t-shirt.
Annie’s family was just Momma, Daddy, and Momma’s family. Momma’s only family was she, and her two brothers—Annie’s uncle Frank and uncle Michael—plus Aunt Becky, but Daddy says she’s not really an aunt; she just married Uncle Michael. Annie didn’t really understand that part of it. She wished Momma would do something to have more uncles, because they were her favorite part of family celebrations. Uncle Frank especially. He always brought her secret presents and would read to her in bed. Uncle Michael wasn’t around a lot, but her Daddy says that’s because Aunt Becky has a stick up her bass.
Daddy didn’t have any family, at least none that Annie had ever met. And it seems like she would have met them at some point, especially when Daddy had The Accident. It seemed like people came to the house from all over when that happened.
I was the eldest child, one of three—our age gap so great that the twins felt like my own children. Summer and Trent were six—eleven giant years younger than me. Dad says that Mom freaked out on her thirty-ninth birthday, suddenly obsessed with having another kid after a decade of just me. Modern technology blessed her with two.
I had six and a half years with them, enough time that I fell hard—them taking and holding hostage two large parts of my heart. As desperate as Mom had been to conceive at age thirty-nine, once the twins had been born, Mom had emotionally checked out of the maternal role, leaving me to step in with hugs, kisses, and diaper changes. I showered them both with love and then puberty hit. After that, Dad did most of the sweet-talking and bedtime stories. Mom was there, and she was great. I don’t mean to indicate that she stuffed us into a corner of the house and ignored us. She was a fun, spontaneous parent, but she was just … different. As I got older, we grew closer. Her disconnect seemed to be with younger children; the twins’ tears and tantrums pushed her buttons and rattled her psyche. The older I got, the closer we grew, and the less time I spent with the twins. That, I blame on hormones.
Teenage hormones turned me into a fair-weather sibling—loving when it was easy, bitchy and argumentative when I felt like it. Unfortunately, bitchy is how I most often was. I should have hugged them more, kissed their bruises, let them pick the channel on TV. They loved me, idolized me, and followed me around begging for kisses. I would give anything to just go back and have one day with them again.
I hate my former self; hate her selfishness and her lack of appreciation for her perfect suburban life. I had everything in the palm of my perfect, lazy hand, and didn’t even realize it.
CHAPTER 20: Jeremy Bryant
Jeremy’s eight-year old niece swung her feet as they hung off her perch on the top of the picnic table. “Maybe she’s a vampire, Jermy.”
“A vampire.”
“Yes! You said she never leaves the ‘partment during the day. I bet she’s a vampire. They only come out at night.” She grinned up at him over the top of her chocolate ice cream cone, her toothless grin a mess of melted chocolate.
He raised his eyebrows, considering. “That is a very good idea. Maybe she is a vampire.”
“ ‘Cause you said she had pale skin, right?” Her eyes were big as she licked the edge of her waffle cone and nodded emphatically. “Gotta be a vampire.”
“Hmmm. But she does eat food. She’s always getting big boxes of food, from different diet companies.”
“Is she …?” She circled her hands around her waist, in a large circle, and puffed out her cheeks dramatically.
Jeremy laughed. “Overweight?”
She dissolved into giggles, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “Yeah. Mom says I’m not allowed to say ‘fat.’ “ She widened her eyes in horror and slapped her hand over her mouth. “Oops. Don’t tell her I said it.”