Revision. (The Re-Up)

Chapter One: iii

iii

The next morning I woke up to the smell of freshly made eggs and cheerful whistling I can recognize no matter the circumstances.

"I see you finally woke up!"

The voice was that of my neighbor, Grant Feltman. As gentlemanly as a gentleman can be. Sometimes I see myself striving to be like him, but it would bring the world to an end if there were two of him, so I stop as soon as I start.

"Want some eggs?" Grant shouted above calming music and the sizzling of a pan.

Groggy and with a gargantuan headache, I managed: "Uh, yeah..." Then, after looking around, I realized I was in my apartment and asked: "Hey, how did you get in here?"

"Well, after I heard your ordeal last night with some cat, I looked out my window and saw you passed out in the alley. So I went downstairs, and grabbed your keys from your pocket and lugged you upstairs. I figured I would come back in the morning and check on you." He said this with a smile and while he was scrambling eggs around on the pan.

The sizzle of the pan had ceased, but the smell of the eggs sprouted in front of me when Grant placed a plate full of perfectly yellow scrambled eggs white spots of green from the chives he mixed in, along with a side of ketchup. They smelled sensationally flawless and I chowed down as soon as the plate hit the coffee table in front of me.

Grant walked over to the medium sized bay window in the mid section of my living room that overlooked the outside city streets down below and stared out of it pensively. I was too busy shoveling eggs into my mouth to ask him what was going on, but thankfully he filled me in anyway.

"So there is police outside our apartment." He said this with a concerned tone, most likely concerned for me because of how he found me the night before. "Any idea why?"

My interest had been piqued. I put the fork I was using as a semi-automatic feeder and went to check the window for myself. To my pleasant surprise, I saw someone familiar outside standing with the officers. Normally, that would be considered a poor statement without context, but the person I saw just so happened to be the young man from the night before. For a second I started to recall the hideous sight of that old woman-thing when I fell. Then the thought vanished.

Without saying anything to Grant besides a brusque "Thank you!" I grabbed my mug, my jacket, and darted out of the door. When it swung open, it slammed against my wall, leaving a small nick in the paint. I rushed down the stairs of my apartment building, trying to be cautious and not fall down, but I still tripped when I got to the very bottom, barely saving myself by catching the railing. When I did catch myself, however, my hand slid against the railing and caused a splinter of wood to slide into the palm of my hand, though I had not noticed until after my excitement died. When I left the building, I saw a crookedly parked police car, two policemen, and my downstairs neighbor. Despite them living below me for three years, I did not and still do not know their name.

The young man must have remembered our encounter from the night before, because when I approached him–he was in handcuffs–he started to fuss and attempt to get out of the policeman's restraint. I smiled, saying nothing, and just observed.

"Stop that shit!" The policeman yelled and tugged on the handcuffs, "You don't want to be in more trouble than you already are, do you?"

The other policeman chimed in, taking his attention off of my neighbor, "Second degree attempted robbery is pretty bad already. I'm thinking five plus years, just to start."

That is when I decided to ask a few questions. "Is everything alright here, officer?"

The one restraining the young man spoke. "Everything is being taken care of," he paused for a moment, "sir, do you live in this building?"

"Yes, I do–"

"Did you hear anything, at around eight A.M., concerning your neighbor or this man?" He pushed the young man forward, presenting him like a dog with a squeaky toy.

"No, I did not. However, I did have an interaction last night with this same man," I glared at the young man.

"What happened? Did he seem like he was trying to break into your apartment building?"

I was about to answer, but my mind became foggy. Rolled over by a steam engine. Then I saw her again, the old woman-thing, reaching out to me with her talon shaped hand. I physically recoiled back into myself, and placed a hand over my mouth as if I was going to vomit.

"Sir? Is everything alright? Do you have anything to add?"

I choked back on whatever was trying to crawl out of me. "No," I said, just trying to throw an answer out. Then I blurted: "Don't you know what he's done? If you are already taking him in?"

"I am asking if you have anything to add. He is claiming to be unaware of the attempted robbery. Saying he does not remember doing such a thing."

"Last night," I mumbled, "he tried to rob me, pointing his gun in my face and waving it around."

The officer looked at the young man, and the young man's face gave it all away. His face was contorted, trying to hide what he did, like a child. He was an amateur. I thought of the night before, how scared and shaky he was, and considered the fact that he might not have tried to rob my neighbor. I brushed that thought aside, then considered the story I could write from this. I checked my phone and saw the time was nearly ten-thirty. I was late, again.

"Ah shit!" I shouted. "I'm late!" Then I ran faster than the wind...

Once I got to Real Dice, I was not called into Zander's office. No, instead, something worse happened. When I shoved the two heavy glass front doors wide open, Zander was at my desk, sitting in my chair, awaiting my arrival. He shook his head and raised his left hand up to the bridge of his nose, planting his thumb and forefinger firmly. "I thought you said–"

"I know, sir!" I shouted on accident, making the entire office look over and try to snoop in my very obvious business. "I know what I said, but you have to hear me out for just a second, please."

He sighed. And as big and husky of a man he was, making him so intimidating when he brooded, let alone at my own desk, he let me explain. I will never forget the kindness that hulking man always showed me.

"You see, I was genuinely late for work today, sir; there is no excuse for that. However, I was not initially as late as I am now," I explained, "What happened is, when I woke up, there were police outside my apartment building. After talking to them for even a few seconds, I knew I had the grounds to make a wonderful story, especially since it was directly in my domain." I sat–more metaphorically, since Zander was sitting in my chair–and waited like a kindergartner who just gave their shitty art project to their parents. I was not giving him an art project by no means, but I was giving him a half-assed story. But half-assed or not, I was telling the whole truth and Zander must have recognized that fact because what he said after was astonishing to me, maybe even the rest of the office.

In a deep hardy bellow, he said: "Then you better make me a damn good story, Evander!"

It was not just that he gave me yet another second chance that I was astonished;not because I expected to be fired that day; but because he used my last name, not James, or Jay as he usually said. He used something with respect, and empowerment surged in me.