Unhinged √

2.

 

      Kazeem was the first and only friend I made when I moved into town. We bonded, if you'd call it that, over joints and he put in a good word for me to his father who owned the garage we both worked in.

Murphy wasn't really his father, he was just one of his mother's boyfriends that moved in and never moved out but since he was responsible enough to work and open a garage, Kazeem didn't really mind him and eventually warmed up to him.

He was a little younger than me, a bit talkative and a lot loud but he saw the lines I'd drawn and didn't cross them so we got along. He was intent on improving my social life though so a few more times than I would have liked, I found myself hanging with him and his friends that I never recognized the next day.

The town wasn't large and everybody needed to have a backstory so he told them what I told him; I got out of rehab and needed a fresh start. Two years on and no one asked any more questions.

          I was alone at the back downing aspirin that Hero handed me with soda. He gave me a short talk about curing a drug problem with another drug but like me, he didn't attend school long enough to be taken seriously when it came to matters like that.

The honking started out moderately then became incessant, multiplying the workload for the aspirin I had just consumed. I was already up and about to head out front when Kazeem appeared before me.

"What's going on out there?"
He laughed.
"Luke's customer. He won't attend to him and no one else wants to but the guy won't leave".
"Even Hero?" If the big guy couldn't solve the problem then the situation was pretty much hopeless.

"I don't know but he seems shady so I'm not doing".
"Shady?"
"I don't know man, he just smiles too much and drives this car a student shouldn't be able to afford, plus he dresses like a pornstar".
That was the thing with small towns, they perceive anything different from you and you are alienated.

I began walking out.
"Wait. What are you doing?" Kazeem held my shoulder to stop me.
"If he came here with a car problem, I'm gonna try to fix it". He sighed.
"Whatever man. I'm gonna get changed, shift's almost over".
We still had about an hour to go but when you are the owner's lazy ass son, why would you care?

Halfway out the honk ceased, the guy was out of his car and leaned on it, typing away on his phone. He heard me approaching and looked up, his face immediately splitting into a grin.
"Hi". He said, slipping the phone into the pockets of his shorts.

"How can I help you?"
"I have a flat". He announced, pointing to the tyre closest to him. Now that he uttered more than a single word, I decided I didn't like his voice. It was too deep for his scrawny build. The tyre looked totalled, like he rode on a chainsaw.
"You've got a spare?"

"In the trunk". For some reason he was still grinning. I would've asked why he didn't change it himself because granted, he was never going to be Dwayne Johnson but he looked like he hit the gym once every month but he was dressed like a golfer in a white tee and real short white shorts.
"Get it out, I'll get my tools".

        The first five minutes were spent in silence as I worked while he watched me like I was going to stain his pink car with grease. What guy drives a pink car? It was a little understandable why Kazeem thought him to be weird.

"So. How long have you worked here?" He sounded chatty like he was starting up conversation at a family dinner.
"Long enough". He released a breath like he hadn't expected me to reply.
"Must be nice huh? Meeting different people regularly".

Looking up, I caught sight of that extra large grin a bit similar to one I used to long to see and returned my gaze to the almost finished work.
"People aren't always nice". He laughed like I was the most humorous person he had ever met.

"Tell me about it, I'm in college with adults who still act like kids. Do you attend the local college? Pretty sure I would've recognized you, the place is scanty. Oh I know, you came home for the summer. Sometimes..."
"Finished". I said, rising from my crouched position.

He grinned widely again.
"Thanks. How much do I owe you?"
"See the cashier up front. I'll have her know what I did for you".
"Cashier, fancy. It was nice meeting you..?"
"You too". I felt the side of my lip twitch.

      Hero handled all the customers that came in for the rest of our shift so I was able to get to the construction site before 2:00pm. I worked with the construction company for twenty hours a week because I could always use the extra cash and I didn't like to be idle. Being left alone in my head wasn't good for anyone.

We were working a new site that was due the next week, it belonged to some rich dude that wanted to surprise his wife with a beach house after their honeymoon. With all the rooms and playhouses, I assumed they planned on adopting an entire orphanage except the woman was a baby making machine.

I could barely drag my tired limbs up to my apartment at the end of the day and when I finally did make it up there, a parcel was waiting at my door, along with a note.

"Boy, you look tired". I turned to see the big old lady Mrs. Bradley standing in front of the door opposite mine.
"Evening, Mrs. Bradley".
"Nana". She corrected and I nodded.
The woman hated kids but always wanted to be addressed like a delightful grandmother.

She looked to the parcel in my hands.
"Ah. That girl left it". She pouted in a very uncute manner.
"What girl?"
"The one making all the noise last night. Monique?"

My embarrassment was shoved down at the knowledge that even Mrs. Bradley knew Monique. She saw the surprise on my face and rolled her eyes.

"Boy, everyone knows that girl. Now everyone on this building knows she's got some lungs on her. Shoulda invested that voice in the opera instead of walking around in those tight little skirts she stuffs her tiny ass...."
"Thanks, Mrs. Bradley".

Anger flashed in her eyes at my refusal to call her by her preferred name but she shrugged her big shoulders and got into her apartment as I got into mine. I locked the door behind me, placed the parcel on the coffee table and read the note.

You didn't get my number

Below it was the number, then;

Just in case you're craving chocolate.

I didn't bother opening the parcel before dumping it along with the note in the trashcan at the kitchen. My intestines were glued together in hunger but I couldn't risk getting drugged again.

Robotically, I made instant noodles, scarfed it down in seconds and went to bed without showering.

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I'm thinking of a schedule; Mondays and Thursdays.
Let's give it a try!
See you on Thursday.