Try For Me | Zelink AU

Cherry Red Bruises

Father wasn't here when I woke up, leaving me to believe he stayed at a hotel for the night. He could have at least called. But there was no call from him and no call from Link and I don't expect it from either of them now. Maybe Father wouldn't hate him as much as I thought seeing as they share that same trait.

I change into a pink gingham dress with short sleeves and a slightly flared skirt that ends at my knee. It reminds me of a strawberry. I'm expecting it to be another hot day and I'll be sitting outside with Impa at her car wash.

I get a thick book to read and toast Pop Tarts before I start my walk to Impa's house. I don't bother with the bus since she doesn't live too far and a ride that short would be a waste of a couple quarters. I'd thought of staying home today in case Mustang boy decided to call but then I'd be wishing for something that wasn't going to happen.

I finish my small breakfast and make it to Impa's street not long after. The houses here are much smaller than mine with only one story and no pools unlike the some of the houses in my neighborhood. Most of the houses have screened in front porches and chipped paint on the posts and siding. The sidewalks are cracked from years of being played on by the kids that don't stop coming. But the families are nice and the homes are bright despite the other signs of wear. This is still the good side of town. Only a few blocks over is a different story. We were always forbidden from wandering that way as kids by all the mothers and occasional fathers on their way to work. After my head was filled with stories of various crimes, I never dared venture that way. Once I got older, I realized that the pops I heard every so often during sleepovers at Impa's were really gunshots and not fireworks or a car backfiring like her mother had told us they were.

I turn up the driveway with a crooked mailbox marking it. One of the neighborhood kids had the unfortunate experience of running into it a few summers ago while trying to catch a football. Luckily he ran off with nothing more than a bruise to show to his friends. Still catching the ball even after running into the mailbox earned him a bit of fame as well.

I hear rummaging coming from the open garage and I go inside. Impa pops up from behind some boxes with her buckets and sponges in hand, grinning wide. She's wearing shorts and a flower printed top that looks more like a bra than a shirt. Another display of her confidence. She makes her way over, tripping over an old toy of hers which she promptly kicks with a passion.

"You're here early," she says, carrying her supplies to the side yard. The ground here is uneven from having parked cars so often. She can fit two in the driveway and uses this space if she's busy.

"There wasn't anything else to do." And I'd rather be here anyway. The only other thing was sulking in my empty house.

"Did he ever call?" I shake my head and play with the hem of my dress. He's just a boy; I shouldn't be so disappointed. I guess I am just because I hadn't been so interested before. I thought he was interested too. "Bummer." She sets down her buckets and places her hands on her hips. "I guess you'll just have to put on a bikini and help me wash cars. That'll get a handsome boy's attention for sure." A smile cracks through my mood.

"I don't think I'm that desperate yet."

"What a shame. Those hips would bring in so much business. Could have those boys lining the street." I pop said hips out to the side even though they're hidden under my pink and white skirt. I shouldn't be thinking about him but I can't help but remember how his eyes lingered on my hips, his mouth lifting into a small smile the longer he stared.

I help her drag out more of her supplies and rinse cobwebs off some of the sponges and brushes with the hose. We decorate the tree in front of her house with her bright plastic streamers and set out the sign she uses each year by the mailbox. By the time we're finished setting up and taking inventory of her soaps and waxes left over from last summer, it's past noon and sweltering.