Ashley ✓

Twenty Seven | Slumber

SOTC: attention by Omah Lay (ft. Justin Bieber)

Purple and pink hues irradiated the sizable clouds scattered throughout the upper globe once I parted from my place of work. I immediately faced the populated parking lot from the pavement I began sauntering across, where the fiery ball present in the Western hemisphere seemed to disappear behind each tan, off-brand cars.

They were a funny sight, the people. Through the lenses of my vision, I watched a large family play Tik Tac Toe while the parents loaded the car and whatever else, some teenagers set up an open drug station for their other friends when they rolled in, and a mom slap a boy over the head with the chancla.

Thank the lord for one year of Spanish back in seventh grade.

My favorite indulgence occurred now, when the receptors in my nose savored every hint of the beach smell wafting into the atmosphere from the one a ways away, lifting my higher to the clouds of heaven. I was so ready to sit in the sand for an hour, the only sound being the crashing waves. It was there I felt free from the chaos of The Block.

BUZZ!

That's when the last gift the government gave me— a little red phone— rung of an unknown number.

"Shove your boneless pizza up your ass," I immediately greeted the spammer upon answering. If their time-sucking vampire robot caller was going to strike, I'd make it worth my while.

"Um... hello, Ashley," said a deep male voice through the phone.

Definitely not a spammer!

"Oh. Ignore what I said," I ordered them as I sauntered down the pavement. "Who would this be?"

"Bruh, I'm going to strap a bomb to my chest if she didn't—"

"Mustafa?" I cut him off.

"No way I said that and you just assumed it was me," he said after a pause. "Gotta love a hate crime."

"According to the United States Justice Department—"

"Before you destructively correct me with something you read in June of 2019 or some shit, I've accepted that I might be wrong," Mustafa cut me off.

I rolled my eyes. Not that he could see from here because he was on the phone rather than in front of me, but I did, anyway.

"Um..."

I turned the corner of the pavement. "So how and why did you get my number?"

"I asked Sienna for your number because if you're free from six to eleven o'clock, I may or may not need a favor from you," he answered quickly.

I raised my eyebrow. "What's the favor?"

Mustafa audibly breathed out. "My manager gave me an extra shift, and I really, really fucking need someone to watch Xavier. Fedor's at a soccer game with his crush, my sister's going to a friend's house at six, and Sienna doesn't know that I have a kid."

"Um..."

"Please, I'll pay you on the spot— I'm really fucking desperate."

I peered over to the inviting beach, its serene waves and all until I responded:

"I'll see what I can do."

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An hour later, I knocked on the door of the rusting white house I was in days ago. Then I stepped back, turning my head to view the surroundings in front of it.

Barks of large dogs echoed throughout the atmosphere, accompanied by the rap music vibrating the packed Toyota creeping down the street. Five houses down from the beginning of the street across from me, a handful of children kicked a dirty soccer ball, screaming what I assumed was Spanish as they broke out in a run, their identical black flip flops slapped against the pavement.