Apt 9

I was out for a jog around the city in early fall when a car pulled next to me on the sidewalk. The driver rolled down the window, a man with rosy cheeks and a friendly smile. He was waving at me profusely as I slowed down and removed my headphones to hear what he was saying.

"Hey Hillary!" he cheered. I narrowed my eyes as I tried to get a better look at his face, hoping to jog my memory. It wasn't a face I remembered seeing before, be it I'm fairly new to the area. He must have read the confusion on my face when he said, "It's me. Your neighbor, Frank." He let out a hearty laugh, "You must not remember. We met back when you were moving in. Apartment 9 right?"

"That's right," I said slowly as I brought my hand to the pocket in my leggings that held my trusty switch blade. I did vaguely remember introducing myself to a neighbor or two on move in day, but that was nearly two years ago. I can hardly remember what I had for lunch. So, I took his word for it. His face dropped and I suddenly felt bad for my poor manners, "Frank! I'm so sorry. God, my memory sucks," I lied and after a few minutes of painful small talk I was on my way.

The following weekend, a gust of wind brushed over my apartment building like a heavy wave in the Atlantic Ocean. I felt the building shake and nearly dropped a healthy glass of red wine onto the new eggshell carpet. Crisis averted. The lights and television screen, queued up to another scary movie, went black with the occurrence of the gust. The candles I'd lit on the mantle glowed in the darkness.

"Spooky," my eyes widened at a lazy Oliver, my kitten who lay droopy-eyed on the plush couch. I put my hands on my hips and pouted, "But how will we do scary movie night without power?" I whined. Oliver yawned before burying his orange face into his paw for another nap. The lights flickered back on and phone chimed.

Mom: "Raining there yet?"

My battery was nearly on 2%. I sent, "Pouring. Still have power," followed by a wine emoji and put my phone back on the charger before I plopped into the corner of the L-shaped sofa, under a fuzzy throw.

As I brought the remote up to the screen to press play, there was a knock at the door. Pizza. "Perfect timing," guzzled the last of my wine and made way for the front door. They knocked again with haste. "Coming!" I yelled. At last, I froze after opening the front door to find the same man from my jog, only less jolly, staring back at me with a sly smile: Frank. The empty wine glass crashed at my bare feet, my eyes wide.

With wild eyes he asked, "Where you been, Hill?"