Catastrophic Happenings

Rick Under sighed as he rang the doorbell of the large, brown bricked house. He never enjoyed visiting his mom, but Rick promised that whenever he was close to home, he would stop by. Every time Rick was back in Bethesda, Maryland, he was exhausted and tired from life on the road. However, a recent turn of events had brought Rick home almost a month sooner than expected.

“Rick! What a nice surprise!” The sixty-two year-old lady grabbed both of Rick’s cheeks, “What brings you home so soon?”

“Hey Mom,” he muttered as she placed lipstick-covered lips on his stubbly face. “The band had to come home early.”

“Oh. Well, come inside. My pound cake should be done in just a few minutes.”

Rick sighed, his eyes noticing the new decorations in the over-sized foyer. He never understood why his mom bought this huge, seven bedroom house when she was all by herself. Five years ago, when his dad passed away, Mrs. Under came into a sizable sum of money. One day, she was driving past a development for single-family homes and decided to buy one.

“Sit down,” she beckoned. “How have you been?”

“I’ve been okay. Work isn’t so good though. The band is going through a rough patch right now.”

“I’m sure you’ll find a way around it.”

Mrs. Under had never been happy with her son’s career choice. She thought that Rick could have amounted to so much more. She thought he would be a lawyer, or a doctor—not the manager of an unsigned band.

“How have you been, Mom? I see that you’ve re-decorated the foyer.”

“Do you like it?” Her smile instantly brightened. “I called one of those people from HGTV, they were just wonderful.”

Rick half smiled, trying to fake care. Mrs. Under was always spending money on unnecessary items.

But whatever makes her happy, thought Rick.

Silence came over the room as they both gazed at various nearby objects.

“Well, I should get going. We got home late last night and I should check up on the band.”

“Are you sure you can’t stay? Not even for cake?”

“Maybe some other time,” Rick suggested. They both got up and made their way through the foyer.

He kissed his mom’s cheek before stepping out the front door. Rick was half way to his green Mazda when he heard something that stopped his tracks.

“Sweetie, something wrong?”

Rick shushed her while trying to decipher where the sound was coming from.

“Who is that?”

“Oh! You’re talking about the singing? That’s Azalea Henderson from next door. Good girl,” she mused. “Anyways, she’s always singing something while she’s doing the dishes.”

Rick grinned as he continued listening; slowly moving toward the direction of the house perpendicular to his mothers. They were on different roads so he made his way down the steep backyard.

“Ricky! What are you doing?”

“Do you two know each other?”

“Yes…Why?”

Mrs. Under didn’t follow her son into the Henderson property, but kept watch from her elevated driveway.

The young girl indeed was washing dishes. Through the open kitchen window he could make out a small teen. As Rick got closer he was able to clearly hear the words she sang.


Rick was amazed. She wasn’t singly loudly, but he could already tell that her voice was powerful.

For some reason, her singing made him think of chimes. Azalea’s tone was crisp, but so very melodic and high pitched.

Now Rick was standing on a stone patio, the ground finally level. He was about seven feet away from the ledge when she looked up.

“Holy shit!”

Her soapy hands let go of a blue ceramic plate and they both jumped a little as they heard it shatter.

“Shit,” Azalea said again. She looked down at the broken cerulean pieces in the stainless steel sink, but then her eyes shot up to the man in front of her.

Her green-brown eyes formed a glare, “Why are you in my backyard?”

“I-I was just listening to you sing.”

“Well, get out! You made me drop a plate.”

Rick ran a hand through his shoulder-length dark brown hair. This confrontation was going down a path very different than the one he had pictured in his head.

“Actually, I was wondering if we could t-“

“Did you not hear me? Get out! I swear I’ll call the cops!”

“Please, just-“

Azalea looked around and took a large kitchen knife from the drying rack. Her fingers wrapped around the handle of the blade and she brought the knife above her head, the point towards Rick.

Rick’s blue eyes widened.

“Azalea, sweetie!” Mrs. Under rushed from her drive way and stood in front of the line of trees that separated their lots. “I see you’re meeting my son, Rick,” she added nervously.

“Your son?” Azalea glanced at the pointed object in her hand before putting it back on the rack.

“Yes. He’s just over here marveling at your lovely singing.”

Mrs. Under slowly and gingerly went down the incline to the patio.

Azalea’s eyes shot over to Rick, sizing him up. She guessed him to be in his mid-twenties and around six feet tall. His clothes were a tad disheveled and his hair was in dire need to be cut. Mrs. Under had mentioned him before, but Azalea never expected him to be so grungy.

“This is just a big misunderstanding. Azalea, why don’t you just come on over my house for some freshly baked pound cake? You two can get better acquainted,” she suggested.

“I have to clean the sink up,” she replied, looking straight at Rick.

“Why don’t you go change, and Rick will help you clean up that mess?”

Azalea sighed and tilted her head to the back door in the kitchen.

“Alright Mrs. Under, I’ll be over in about five minutes.”

“Okay sweetie, take your time.”

Rick walked over to the back door and waited for Azalea to unlock it. She opened the door and allowed him to step inside.

They walked over to the sink and looked at the ceramic shards.

“It’s ten dollars for that plate.”

Rick turned and looked at her, “Excuse me?”

“Strange tall man creeps through the Henderson’s backyard, scaring the fifteen-year-old daughter half to death while she is washing the dishes, making her drop one of her mother’s new plates. I’d say ten dollars would make us even.”

Rick looked down on her incredulously, towering nine inches above her. “Are you serious?”

“Does it look like I’m joking?” Azalea’s fierce hazel eyes challenged his dumbfounded blue ones. The messy bun made of her light brown hair flopping as she moved her head to look up at him.

Rick sighed as he got his wallet out from his back pocket.

“I only have eight.”

She shrugged, “I guess it’ll do.”

Azalea took the bills from his hand, quickly counted them, and then tucked them into the basketball shorts she had on.

“I’m Rick Under by the way,” he extended his right hand out to the girl.

“Yeah, I sorta pieced your name together,” she said but shook his hand anyway. “As your mom already told you, I’m Azalea Henderson.”

Azalea opened a drawer to take out a pair of rubber gloves. Then she went over to a cabinet and pulled out a small plastic bag.

“How old are you, kid?”

“I’m fifteen, young adult.”

Rick smiled, enjoying her attitude. “I get your point.”

“Good,” she answered. “Here,” Azalea put the gloves on the black, granite counter top. “Just put the bag in the trash can after you pick up all the pieces. Please be careful, because I don’t want to clean up any blood spills. I’m gonna go upstairs to change; if you steal something, remember, I know where your mom lives.”

Rick watched her walk out of the kitchen, into the foyer, and then run up the stairs.

He slipped on the yellow rubber gloves and went over to the sink with the bag in his left hand. He picked up the big pieces of the broken plate first, then carefully placed them in the bag.

As Rick was picking up the last of the smallest fragments, he heard footsteps. He thought of what to say to Azalea.

“Almost done?” she questioned, reappearing in jean shorts and a plain, fitting t-shirt.

“Almost,” he replied. “How long have you been singing?”

“I don’t know, since I was able to.”

“Well, who trains you?”

“My choir teacher,” her face looked confused. Then Azalea turned away to look for shoes.

“Wait, you haven’t taken voice lessons?”

She shook her head as she slipped her feet into a pair of black flip flops to match the jeans and t-shirt she changed in to.

She looked over at Rick, “Why are you asking me all these questions? There’s cake next door that’s getting cold.”

He pulled off the rubber gloves and threw them on the island counter.

“One last one,” he negotiated. “Then we’ll head over.”

Azalea raised her eyebrows.

“Do you play an instrument?”

“Piano,” she said quickly before walking over to the back door.

Rick was slightly disappointed as he followed her.

She slid the door open and jumped past the three cement steps and landed on the patio.

“I used to play guitar but I gave it up a while back.”

“How come?”

“Ah, ah, ah,” Azalea turned to look at him, “you said no more questions.”

“I’m a band manager,” Rick offered as the hiked up the hill to his mom’s house.

“I’m a high school student,” she answered back. “But I bet you make way more a year than I do.”

He grinned at her joke. “Have you ever wanted to be in a band?”

“Again with the weird questions,” she said pointedly. Azalea sighed and answered anyway, “What teen doesn’t dream of being a rock star?”

“So are you in a band?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know anyone that plays.”

They reached the doorstop and she turned towards him, “You know, normally when two people meet for the first time they make small talk. You know, what grade are you in? What school do you go to? What do you do with your free time? Not twenty questions to see if I can rock my face off.”

Azalea wasn’t mad or annoyed with Rick, just curious about all the interrogating. “Well, you see, the band I’m managing had to come home early—we just got back yesterday—because our lead singer left.”

Azalea tried the knob and found the door open, but knocked anyway to make their presence known.

“What’s your point?”

Azalea’s slippers made a sticking noise each time they lifted off of the shiny wooden hallway. Rick sighed, this being the second time in this house in less than half an hour.

“Would you be interested in an audition to be the new lead singer of Catastrophic Happenings?”