Sativa.

3. Mac and Rap

For twenty-three years, Blaine has moved from one trailer park to the next. This is the first she's lived at alone and she hates it. Enclosed in a small space unable to escape the unpleasantness of her neighbor's.

On one side a nosy single mother with four children. A pack of hyena's that teepee Blaine's house and stomp through her flower garden. The other side houses a man she's only seen a couple of times. Despite being private he never sleeps. She's often disturbed by a running lawnmower or hand-saw at one a.m.

She's yet to introduce herself to either of them. Not while she was raking pounds of toilet paper off her roof. Nor when she'd literally duct taped a pillow around her head to drown out the noise.

Had her Mom been here she'd have offered to babysit the Bower kids to keep their Mother from sticking her hooked nose in her business. The young man, Travis, would have an arsenal of casserole and meatloaf stocked in his fridge. Blaine can practically hear her Mother's voice echoing : because he's a single man and that doesn't cut it anymore. Withering away to nothing I'm sure.

Twenty-three is Blaine's minefield. A wasteland of unemployment and lack of sleep. Listless evenings are spent sliding around on tile floors in mismatched socks blaring rap artists from the 90's like Tupac and Snoop. She's been eating boxed Mac and Cheese at least three times a week.

One evening, in Mid-October, she's cooking with bass booming from her stereo to fill the void. Her kitchen window faces Travis's place. As she's stirring cheese into the Mac she's distracted. Recently, his trailer has been more active than the Bower's. For the third time this week a cop car parks out front with lights flashing like a neon disco for crime.

Her noodle-stirring slows as she observes. A robust officer stands at the doorway, knocks twice, then takes a step back with his hands on his wide hips. She doubts the fat policeman could enforce any authority over her neighbor. From what she's seen he's a fit young man.

An odd feeling twists her gut. Like he'll somehow know of her spying. She focuses back on cooking refusing to be a snoop. No doubt the Bower Mother is gawking out her window right now. Perhaps even brazenly standing on her porch like a trailer park sentry.

Setting the bowl of Mac on the table she claps her hands to the music starting to dance. While spinning around she slams into the solid width of another person before stumbling backward with a yelp.

A scream builds but a hand clamps around her mouth before she makes a peep. His gaze is intense enough to wither her like a flower assaulted by too much sun. The stranger doesn't beg her to be quiet or hold her hostage. At least not with his hands. His eyes, though, are rather vexing. After silencing her initial cry for help he releases her.

Blaine can see his lips moving but she's unable to hear him over the song. "What?" As she yells she realizes no one would have heard even if she needed help.

He raises his voice. "You can scream if you want! I'm not here to hurt you!"

"Why are you here?"

"What?"

"Why are you here?"

"I can't hear you!"

"Why are you here?" She enunciates each word dramatically.

"Say again!"