Bitter

two - lydia

My feud with Cal spanned from second grade to my senior year of high school. I had never thought in a million years he would have the strength to keep it going, but he just couldn't let it go when I'd bite back.

He'd always strike at me like a snake when I was in the neighborhood, throwing something smelly at my clothes or yelling something I'd much rather ignore. Yet, when we were at our middle school, it was like I was a ghost. I didn't exist. It was our own secret, ongoing thing. He'd embarrass me in some way, and I'd get back at him. My favorite time was when I punctured his bike tires, right after the lemonade incident. It was all great until he brought the fight to high school.

Ninth grade consisted of Cal chucking a basketball at my face in gym (which he claimed was an "accident"), spreading more rumors about me, and once again, "accidentally" spilling paint all over one of my projects. Tenth grade included a messy trip in the lunch line and more whispering behind my back. I was so used to it by then, it really didn't matter much. I got back at him, that's all that I cared about.

By junior year, everything kind of slowed down between us and since we didn't have any classes together, there was less of a chance I'd run into him. There was the time he almost broke my arm during Halloween when he and his friends went around scaring little kids who were trick-or-treating. Just like on the day with the lemonade, he and his friends saw me all alone, walking home from my cousin's house at night and they all zeroed in on me. I had been going up the steps of my front porch when Jason Voorhees, Michael Myers, Freddy Krueger, and Ghostface leapt out of my bushes and swung their legs over the porch railing. I had stumbled backward a little and my foot had caught on a plant vase. That's when I fell and nearly crushed my arm on the stone walkway.

They ran off just like they'd done before and Mom moved the plant vase the next day. I never figured out which horror movie killer Cal had been, but whichever one was the most messed up of the four, I had decided that's who he was.

After Halloween, there wasn't much activity. He put a snowball in my locker (but it wasn't like I used it anyway). He drove by me going ten over the speed limit after it had rained, spraying water all over me as I walked home, soaked from head to toe. That was the last time I saw him that year. Summer came, summer went, and school started back up. I hadn't seen him since. Until two days after my eighteenth birthday.

———

The clouds passed over the sun for a moment as I walked on the sidewalk, feeling the cool, September air through my sweatshirt. The leaves were just starting to change color and some skittered on the road, like little tumbleweeds in the desert. It was a quiet evening and I liked it. School had started already and we were three weeks in, so I needed this walk. I could only handle so much math in a month.

Hands in my sweatshirt pockets, I shivered a bit when a slight breeze combed through my light hair gently. Summer was definitely over, there was no question about that.

Strolling along, observing the sunset trees swaying high above me, I felt something familiar. I couldn't exactly think of what it was right away, but when I continued to walk, it felt like slowly the puzzle pieces in my mind were coming together, clicking into place and creating a single thought.

I paused. My sneakers had stopped in front of a metal pole. A neighborhood street sign. "French Street," I said to myself, wondering where I'd seen that before. Had I been here? I turned to go down it, admiring all of the gardens and perfect houses with wide windows and freshly cut grass. The grass in our yard was already dead and brown. Even the trees were somehow better-looking than the ones on my street, although, I finally noticed they were losing a couple leaves also.

The clouds parted from the sun eventually and warm, glowing beams shined down on everything below, making my walk much more inviting. I could hear a woodpecker somewhere, the hum of an idle car, spraying water hitting pavement. That was when I heard an angry shout. "Cal!"

I didn't hear the rest of the exchange that erupted out of nowhere, but I didn't have to. As soon as I heard that name, my searching eyes located him. A couple houses up, he stood in his driveway, a hose in his hand as he yelled at someone standing in the doorway of his house. I squinted my eyes to see it was his mom. Poor Penny.

She slammed the door and I saw Cal give it the finger. Penny must not have seen it because I knew for a fact if she had, Cal would not live to see another day.

I was debating on continuing my walk. I could turn around, pretend I didn't see any of that. I could walk home and ignore Cal for the rest of my life. But then I remembered how he had drenched me in dirty, road water and disappeared. He had had the last laugh. If he started all of this, I would be the one to end it.

So I strolled onward. I knew it was a bad idea, but my legs didn't.

Two houses away and I could see him rinsing the car with little effort. He would check his phone every now and then, smile at it, then put it back in his pocket. He would shift his weight from one foot to the other, then transfer the hose to his other hand where he would start texting again, never even aiming the hose at the car.

One house away and Cal was moving around to the back of the car, stepping over a bucket of soapy water. He wasn't facing my way thankfully as he rubbed the back of his neck, rinsing off the back windshield.

It was when I was half a house away when he finally heard me. He glanced back casually, faced forward, then glanced back again more quickly. He had definitely recognized me.

He was watching my every move as I ambled up the sidewalk, reaching the end of his driveway. I didn't remember him being as tall as he was before me. He had looked shorter from far away, but it was just an illusion since he was over ten inches taller than me. That didn't sit well with my plan.

He wasn't even trying to wash the car anymore as the hose was aimed directly at the pavement and his gaze was trained on me. Suddenly, I was eight years old again, a vulnerable target. I was flying right into the spider's web, on purpose this time.