Coffee with Mr. Casey

8 - New Feelings

Johnny

“Mr. Casey? Mr. Casey!” The voice of a pre-pubescent boy snapped me out of my thoughts. Danny Irving stood in front of me, boldly holding out his test. Just from looking at the front page, I knew he was going to fail.

He placed his test in front of me and proudly strutted back to his desk. It was the first one of the class that was turned in. Class had started five minutes earlier and all my questions were short essay. I stared at the gibberish in front of me, unable to decipher one word, and sat it aside.

School was the last thing on my mind as I sat in front of the class. Thankfully, I had a scheduled the test for that day so I could sit there and think. I didn’t want to admit to myself that I was thinking of Lola, but what was the use? She was helpless, and she wasn’t willing to let anybody in. If she had, she wouldn’t be living in such a mess.

I couldn’t stop thinking about the frightened look in her eyes when she answered the door, or when I somehow felt different with her being so close. Her wet and swollen, brown eyes were aching as she gazed into mine. I should’ve taken her home with me and kept her safe, but I knew good and well that it would just make things worse. I couldn’t stand the thought of it.

After school was out, I took the liberty to skipping the detention period and going home. I’d had enough of waiting for no one and it seemed Lola was the only reason for detention anyway. No one else got in trouble.

I grabbed my things and my suitcase, rushing out of the front double doors. I hummed a tune as I sped home, taking notice of my happier mood after leaving the school. I was going to have to write the song down for my gig tomorrow.

Finally, I was going to play again in the comfort of that little bar. Two weeks had felt too long. The feel of the place was always calm and people really liked what I had to offer. I even wrote my own stuff most of the time. It was my escape from the reality.

I turned into the parking lot of my apartment complex, to realize something was completely wrong. My door was just the slightest bit ajar...

Lola.

I frantically ran up the steps, trying not to trip and break my nose. Once I made it safely to the top, I called her name. “Lola?” I used a finger to push the door a little more. “Are you in there?”

I waited and listened to maybe hear shuffling, but it was completely silent. Finally deciding to open the door completely, I found my apartment entirely trashed. It wasn’t like someone had partied and left—this person had taken everything I owned and made sure it was in at least two pieces on the floor. My decorative paintings were torn and scattered everywhere. My television sat flat on the screen in front of the entertainment system, which was ruined also. The papers from my desk were strewn out everywhere, meaning I was going to have to put off grades for another week.

That was it. Lola had done enough.

My thumb easily pressed the three little numbers, and then hit send. As the phone rang, I started searching around the covered floor for anything that would be considered a clue. Maybe she’d left a pen or something—I don’t know.