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The last thing I wanted to come home to today was a leaking kitchen faucet. This wasn't a first time occurance, the kitchen always leaked, I just never took the time out to call a repair service.
I ran down to the basement, hoping I could repair the issue myself, grabbing the tool bag I ran back upstairs. Usually my neighbor Mr. Eric resolved this problem, but his driveway was completely empty— and his house looked pitch black, meaning he was probably gone.
I'm starting to grow frustrated because I always see him use a wrench, and suddenly the wrench doesn't work when I use it. By this point, my entire outfit is covered in water, and its material is clinging to my body. My braids are sticking to my face, making me realize I should've pulled them up.
After another ten minutes of constant twisting, I give up. I just toss a bucket under the pipe and change into leggings and a sports bra, after the stress I've just encountered— a run would resolve most of it.
Throughout high school I ran track, running was my thing. I ran whenever I was sad, normal, happy, it didn't matter. I took running as an expressive outlet for my entire life. Oftentimes just running with no clear path or sense of direction, I just ran.
I put my headphones on as I exit out the house and begin the cycle. My feet collide with the ground as I make my mark. I run till my lungs collapse, feet burn, and my body aches. Not in a tortuous way, just enough to feel the run.
My arms swish back and forth linearly in a robotic rotation. The sun burns away at my skin, leaving sweat beads to trample down my face. Every now and then a cool, summer breeze glides across, leaving me to enjoy the seconds of relief.
I run until I spot my house again, the black Audi announcing that I've made it home. I take a break, and lean against my car, trying to gain my normal body temperature back and control my breath.
I look towards Mr. Eric's house, noticing it looked the same way it did before my run. I blew out a huge breath, it was too late for any repairman to come out.
Spotting my new neighbor I asked for help, "Cairo, could you help me with a repair please?" I asked, graciously hoping he would at least have a temporary solution. He didn't verbally reply, only walking over in my direction.
As much as I hated to admit it, Cairo looked good. I meant good. He dressed well, always had his hair done, smelt good, and kept jewelry on. Although he didn't verbally speak often, and when he did, his voice was light and almost invisible. He kept to himself, giving off a mysterious energy to his persona.
Right now he was dressed in black joggers and a regular tee. Even in something so simple, he managed to look so.. so alluring. I didn't fail to lay sight on his chain that read off the number twelve, leaving me to wonder the relevance.
"Wassup?" He spoke, again lowly.
"My kitchen faucet is leaking, do you by any chance know how to fix it?" I asked, hoping he was the solution to my problem.
He stood for a moment— only staring before he spoke, "Lemme see it." We both proceeded in the direction of the door.
When we arrived in the kitchen, I showed him the trouble, "You gotta tool bag?" He asked, resulting in me hurriedly gathering the bag from the living room table.
He instantly started correcting the issue, as I stood closely behind watching. He used the wrench like I did, but apparently I had the wrong techniques, it seemed to do wonders for him.
"I tried using the wrench earlier, but it didn't work for me." I sadly stated, but he didn't reply, only continuing his repair.
While he continued his job, I admired his hair. I sometimes did my nieces hair, one of which has locs like Cairo. His hair was healthy and moisturized, it even gave off a scent that I couldn't place my hands on but I enjoyed it.
"You just gon stare at me the entire time?" He asked, making me roll my eyes, mentally of course. He was doing me a huge favor still.
I spoke up, "I wasn't even staring." I said, lying but he didn't know that.
"Mhm." Was his reply, and the topic was left alone. To avoid the accusation again, I fixed a quick snack. A few moments later, he was done, and sure enough the faucet was done leaking.
"I couldn't thank you enough." I exclaimed, just happy that my kitchen was done being soaked.
He stood looking at me, making me avoid the stare. It wasn't an uncomfortable stare, just one to analyze me. I was okay with that, I get stared at often during my profession. It's just this time I wasn't at work.
Eventually his deadly stare was over, "It ain't nothing for real." He replied, while walking back towards the door.
Before he could fully leave, I called his name, "Cairo, I'm having a pool party tomorrow for my nieces, bring Karter over." His reply was a head nod, then he continued making his way home. For some odd reason, I remained thinking about my neighbor.
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