When Bluebirds Fly | ✔

Part One : Chapter Five

Hearing a thud just loud enough to grab my attention, I dashed to the corridor. There was a card box with its contents scattered on the floor and an average-sized man bending to pick them up. I briefly contemplated dodging the items and going home, but realising that he was my new neighbour, I squatted on the ground to help him. It was important to establish amicable relations with neighbours. They were of prime use when one wanted to elude the debt collector and get away with the improbable concoction.

"I should have known the box isn't strong enough to hold these," he said dryly, only his pepper hair visible to me.

I was busy gathering his possessions or at least, I pretended to do so with the intention to avoid any traumatic small talk. This particular box consisted of his files, stapler, pens and such. As I was keeping one of the files away, I accidentally noticed a provocative picture of a woman in all her naked glory peeking from beneath. Another perverse creature to deal with, but then again, all men owned things like these. My father wanted me to marry a Christian boy from the church, but at this moment, I decided that I would aim for the priest. As long as I didn't have to suffer looking at these raunchy images every day. But then again, I would rather be entertained looking at these than at God.

"Well then," his hoarse voice sounded like a raucous cough. The kind of voice that indicated the person was permanently suffering from a bad throat. "Do you want to come in for a drink?"

He finally met my eyes and I was bewildered to find a relatively younger face- one in his thirties to be attached to the greying hair and grating voice. It seemed all wrong, wrinkles were missing on his light skin and the wisdom of a sixty-year-old in his blue eyes. His slightly bigger nose was devoid of any hair peeping from the nostrils.

"No," I refused and realising how curt I was being, I added, "I have work to do."

"You just saved yourself from the mess in my room." He smiled so I had to smile back. It wasn't difficult since I did find him a bit amusing with his old hair and voice. "Next time then when my apartment's all clean and shiny."

"Good luck with that," I mused, getting up from my crouching position.

"Thanks for helping, it's hard work moving to a different place." His gaze briefly flickered to a photo frame lying beside his right foot. I caught sight of four faces but didn't have time to observe their features since he proceeded with the introductions, "I'm Abel. What's your name?"

"Mariana." I paused when he offered his hand to shake. "Water supply is scarce during the afternoon and power cuts are as frequent as the couple upstairs constantly fighting. You'll hear atom bombs like being dropped, but don't fear, they're only the pots and pans being thrown. They have a routine- A heated argument in the middle of the night, wrestling when the sun rises and makeup sex . . . You'll get used to it."

His face broke into a grin and we shook hands as warmly as I was capable of. "Did you get used to it?"

"No, but it's a free soap opera every morning. Something to look forward to," I said sarcastically and his grin widened. "It'll take you years to get used to the schedule."

"Oh no." His eyes suddenly held a determination that would soon extinguish from living here. "I'm going to try and get out of here as soon as I can."

Those exact words were uttered by my father and me, but here we were, six years later. Broken like my childhood wind-up toy, it's key- our spirits rusted and stuck. All we wanted was to successfully pay the bills and not be forced to shift to dingy motel rooms.

"You surely will," I lied, not bothering to conceal my derisive tone.

He caught my tone and wasn't too pleased. "I know. I'll do anything to get out of here. Anything."

I let out a small laugh to dissipate the tense atmosphere. So much so for having good relations with neighbours. It was both physically and mentally draining.

"I'll help you with your mission." I adjusted the belt of my jeans which I recently purchased to save the modesty of my butt. "I'll go to work now. Can't be late."

"It was nice to---"

"Likewise," I interrupted, unable to resist my impatience. "Can't be late, remember?"

He nodded, smiling, not before subtly checking me out as I marched away.

* * *

"You're five minutes early," Isaac announced, glancing at his watch. "Saved yourself from the tsunami of spit."

I scrunched my nose up, taking a glimpse of the pot-bellied manager snoring- rather roaring in his sleep on the chair.

"I bought towels," I stated and Isaac laughed like I was kidding. I did bring thick towels in my inflated bag. It was nice to freshen up in this clean bathroom than use the one at home with thinning water. Plus it rescued me from a foreseeable tsunami of saliva.

"Tony's in the pantry," he said a bit soberly as if I needed to know. False boyfriend or not, I didn't need persistent information of an individual with maximum abilities to look after his own self. "He's helping Lola with a new batch of babies."

Again with the disease of calling sugary treats with the power to cause diabetes- babies. An insult to the chubby creatures. I would like a well-mannered baby as long as it didn't cry, poop or vomit on my Sunday dress.

"Donuts. They're called donuts," I said with emphasis and he shrugged casually. How he was not annoyed by this disease was beyond me. I considered him the sanest man after dad and Sam.

He handed me an apron and while I was tying it around my waist, he took the responsibility of fixing the cap on my head. I was still for a moment, his long fingers gently loosening my tight ponytail so the cap could fit. I was sent reeling back to a decade-old memory.

Seven-year-old Isaac was frowning at me, rubbing his head. "What did you pull my hair for?"

"They're nice and shiny," I admitted, reaching for his unruly hair again. He instinctively backed away. "I wish I had hair like yours. Give me your hair. You're a boy, you don't need it."

He suddenly started running in the park to escape my torture and I chased him, our childlike laughter echoing in the afternoon silence. When I couldn't catch him, I huffed and sat on the burning ground. Immediately, a figure towered over me and two small hands were petting my head. "You have nice hair too."

I quickly snatched the cap from his hand, giving him the coldest glare which would make Tony crap his khaki pants. But Isaac smiled, that wrinkly smile of his. This one slightly lopsided with an inch of his perfect, pearly teeth on display.

I stubbornly pulled the tip of my cap down and he jested, "You'll tear it from all the manhandling."

"Next time I'll show it more kindness, thank you," I said bitterly. "Poor thing needed a lawyer to defend its dignity."

And he laughed, that contagious laughter of his which made me bite the inside of my cheek in an effort to keep me from smiling foolishly. It didn't work. With Isaac flipping Connor, it never did.