Flying
neuf
After a long hard hour of pre-calculus, Sullivan drops me off at my house.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says, even though we don’t have a session scheduled for another two days.
“Uh huh,” I get out of the car and slam the door behind me.
When I hear his Junker pulling away, I reach into my pocket and pop another pill. Then I float up the driveway and into the front door on my little silver medication cloud. I drop my textbook-heavy backpack on the scuffed wood floor and make my way to the kitchen.
“Sweetheart,” drawls a familiar voice.
I freeze up. My heart starts to pound like a championship racehorse. My palms start to sweat. Suddenly I feel like I’ve been out in the desert for weeks.
“I’ve missed you,” Kenneth says.
He’s just sitting there at my kitchen table like it’s no big deal at all. Like he hasn’t broken into my house. Like he isn’t a stalker/sex offender/psychopath.
“How did you get in here?”
“You really should lock your back door,” he replies, shrugging his shoulders.
How many steps am I from the knife drawer? Eight? Ten? I’m calculating speed, angles, trajectory, all fresh in my mind from my math tutoring session with Sullivan. But Kenneth has positioned himself right in the middle of everything. There’s no way I could get around him. Up next on the Six O’clock News: Idiot drug addicted skank found dead in own home. Who cares who did it? She deserved it.
“I’m going to call the police,” I tell him, retrieving my phone from my pocket and holding it out towards him like a weapon.
“Don’t you dare, bitch!” Kenneth thunders.
Too late, I’ve already dialed 911 and hit send. “Leave!”
“I love you,” he lunges towards me and grabs me by the shoulders.
“I’ve called the police!” I hope the 911 operator can hear the yelling.
“God, why do you have to be such a bitch to me?” he whines. “I just want to be with you.”
His forehead wrinkles and the frown lines around his mouth crease so deeply, I can’t help but think about how he’s so much older than I am. For a second I have the urge to get up on my tiptoes and see if his bald spot has grown since the last time I saw him. But then he leans into me and kisses me full on, on the lips. All the men in my life smell of liquor, he is no exception. I think I should be fighting this, but I don’t. I’m not enjoying it, yet it feels familiar. So I just hold my breath and wait. When he lets me go, I stagger backwards into the wall and he disappears out the back door and through the backyard.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says, even though we don’t have a session scheduled for another two days.
“Uh huh,” I get out of the car and slam the door behind me.
When I hear his Junker pulling away, I reach into my pocket and pop another pill. Then I float up the driveway and into the front door on my little silver medication cloud. I drop my textbook-heavy backpack on the scuffed wood floor and make my way to the kitchen.
“Sweetheart,” drawls a familiar voice.
I freeze up. My heart starts to pound like a championship racehorse. My palms start to sweat. Suddenly I feel like I’ve been out in the desert for weeks.
“I’ve missed you,” Kenneth says.
He’s just sitting there at my kitchen table like it’s no big deal at all. Like he hasn’t broken into my house. Like he isn’t a stalker/sex offender/psychopath.
“How did you get in here?”
“You really should lock your back door,” he replies, shrugging his shoulders.
How many steps am I from the knife drawer? Eight? Ten? I’m calculating speed, angles, trajectory, all fresh in my mind from my math tutoring session with Sullivan. But Kenneth has positioned himself right in the middle of everything. There’s no way I could get around him. Up next on the Six O’clock News: Idiot drug addicted skank found dead in own home. Who cares who did it? She deserved it.
“I’m going to call the police,” I tell him, retrieving my phone from my pocket and holding it out towards him like a weapon.
“Don’t you dare, bitch!” Kenneth thunders.
Too late, I’ve already dialed 911 and hit send. “Leave!”
“I love you,” he lunges towards me and grabs me by the shoulders.
“I’ve called the police!” I hope the 911 operator can hear the yelling.
“God, why do you have to be such a bitch to me?” he whines. “I just want to be with you.”
His forehead wrinkles and the frown lines around his mouth crease so deeply, I can’t help but think about how he’s so much older than I am. For a second I have the urge to get up on my tiptoes and see if his bald spot has grown since the last time I saw him. But then he leans into me and kisses me full on, on the lips. All the men in my life smell of liquor, he is no exception. I think I should be fighting this, but I don’t. I’m not enjoying it, yet it feels familiar. So I just hold my breath and wait. When he lets me go, I stagger backwards into the wall and he disappears out the back door and through the backyard.
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This has been a long time coming. Sorry I'm such a slow updater.