Spirit

Don't Do It

Stupid hair.

    It itched.

    God, it was absolutely excruciating. It was like a craving for chocolate. Urgent and necessary.

    I couldn't move the blonde lock away from my neck now. No, I won't waste anymore time. The truck was due by five and we still had to move the 16 boxes and the ratty, old couch.

    "Okay it's time for a break," my mother announced.

    "Mom, it's 8:15! We have to return the truck by 10 o'clock," I retorted.

    "Yes, but my arms are so sore," she whined.

    "You're wallet is going to be sore if we don't return the truck on time. Why did we choose that company anyway? They charge way too much."   

    Mom huffed, sitting down on the creaky wooden steps of the aged house, resting her chin on her palm. Sighing, I set the box down on the worn concrete and sat down to her left. My fingers moved the piece of hair and tucked it behind my ear.

    Finally.

    I twisted my body to stretch my arms without hitting Mom. She could be such a wimp sometimes. She was begging for a break but my arms weren't even tired.

    Ow! Are there even supposed to be muscles there?

    After stretching my aching arms for a while I folded them against my chest and stared out at the street.

    It was the typical suburb-y neighborhood. Two story houses in need of paint and cracked sidewalks. It wasn't spectacular but at least it wasn't like that place in Louisiana.

    "This is it," she sighed.

    "Yep," I replied stiffly. 

    She wrapped her arms around me. Resting her chin on my shoulder she muttered "Its going to be good here, I promise."

    "You say that every time," I muttered, standing up. "Come on, we need to get this done." I grasped the box with sweating fingers and marched into the house. Immediately to my right was a growing a pile of cardboard.

    "Andrew!" I heard my mother smile.

    My box now rested comfortable on the tightly packed dishes. With a quick wipe on the jeans, my hands were now sweat-free and ready to meet Andrew.

    "Hi!" I smiled, shuffling through the doorway.

    "Hiddy-hi, you must be Mia!"

    He looked to be in his late 30s (like most of Mom's friends), blond, and balding. He was tall, muscular,and handsome (like all of Mom's male friends).  Mom mentioned he worked in construction, which explained the muscles- and the dirt covering his clothes.

    "That's me! It's a pleasure to meet you, Andrew," I replied, effortlessly, shaking his hand. "Thank you so much for letting us stay with you."

    "Oh, it's no trouble, really. It's a pleasure to see Cassie again," he replied, nodding towards my mother. "And I finally got to meet her pride and joy. Why don't we take a break and get something to eat?"

    "Ugh, wish we could," Mom groaned. "I have to get the van back to the company before they close or they're going to charge me an extra day."

     "We better get a move on then," Andrew shrugged, picking up three boxes at once.

    I like him.

----

    Once we finally finished moving everything in the house, it was around 9 o'clock. It took about 20 minutes to maneuver the couch through the doorway. Mom kept taking breaks, complaining about her weak arm muscles and sweaty body.

    "Okay, here's the plan," Mom said after taking a short shower. "I'm going to return the van and Andrew is going to follow behind me. You can stay here, if you want, and unpack. When we come back, we can all go get something to eat. Sound good?"

    "Yeah, sounds good," I replied.

    We said our goodbyes and then I was left alone in the unfamiliar house.

All the furniture was old-not antique, but worn and weary. It was as though they had been there for as long as the house had.

    Suddenly I felt the need to get out. A feeling crept on my neck and I couldn't shake it. Like the walls were closing in. Like I was being watched. The house felt like it held secrets. That perhaps it knew something I didn't.

    Out.

    I grabbed my cross-body bag and left the house. I just needed to take a short walk to clear my head. The summer season blessed me with fading sunlight despite the late hour. Street lamps were still rubbing their eyes, shaking off the remainders of slumber before their night shift. The buildings and houses had been constructed long ago. This town was a mystery to me so I kept walking in one direction until I reached the business part of the city. Small shops, banks, and bars squeezed themselves between one another on both sides of the street. Most places were closing for the night, if they hadn't already. I then decided to head back so that I wouldn't make my mother worry if I wasn't there when she arrived at the house.

    With the sun running from the moon, the street lamps started to glow and I quicker my pace. My fingers curled around the woven strap of my bag for comfort with my feet making heavy, fast steps.

    An alarming crash came from the left. My head jerked as if I were a marionette and the situation was the operator.

    The flashing neon sign of the bar at the end of the alley was the only source of light   Two dark, broad figures were stalking each other, staggering in a circle. They appeared to be men flooded with rage.

    In a second, the two charged at one another. Fists swung, legs kicked, and smacks were audible upon impact. They continued to collide, each trying to overpower the other under the flickering pink and green lights. One dove towards the other, knocking him to the ground. They continued their fight, wrestling each other, flipping each other back and forth. Then one was on top of the other, pinning him down and throwing punches relentlessly.

    "Don't do it," I muttered to myself. You have to be home soon. "Don't do it. Crap. Hey!"

    I sprinted across the street towards the assault in the dirty alley. I hoped to spook the guy or at least startle him so the other guy could push him away.

    They both turned their heads toward the sound of my voice, faces covered by shadows from the light. In that split second, the man underneath him pulled a shiny object out of his sleeve and lodged it into the left side of his attacker.

The man yelled in pain and rolled off the other and onto his back. The man with the knife scrambled to his feet and fled without a second thought. The wounded one stared at the darkened sky, trying to even his breathing. I fell to my knees beside him.

    The handle of the knife stuck out of his body, between his ribcage and hip. Blood relentlessly stained his shirt. His face was becoming pale as the seconds ticked by and I soon realized that if I didn't do something, he would die.