Crazy is Relative

/ 2 /

What's the harm? Was that really my last conscious thought?

I sigh and turn off my alarm after hitting snooze too many times.

There goes my morning swim . . . and my future . . . all because of. . .

I wish I had darts and a bad picture of him, if I could find such a thing...

My day at the bakery is hectic and monotonous. The caffeine never seems to kick in and the air conditioning doesn't quite keep up with the ovens and constant influx of people.

When my shift finally ends, I head home in the peak-of-the-day heat, completely drained and missing my actual home, which says a lot about my current situation. Palmer, my ex-boyfriend, got most of the friends in our "divorce." I admit, I didn't fight for them very hard and maybe I should have. If they knew my side of the story, and what a lying, selfish, spiteful piece of work he is, they may have come around.

Lost in thought, I turn onto my road—an unpaved lane that I'm still getting used to from behind the wheel of my well-loved Subaru. I'm not ten yards in when a loud muscle car appears in my rearview mirror and starts riding my tailpipe. There are only so many houses on this road, and I can think of only one person who would drive a car like that.

For a number of reasons, many of which I blame him for, I should take all the time I need.

Jordan impolitely disagrees, and makes his engine rev to announce his presence, as if I didn't already know. We make brief eye contact in my mirror. His eyes bulge out at me, and not in an amused way. He probably doesn't even know who I am. Or, he knows who I am, or at least recognizes that I am his neighbor, and he doesn't care. I'm not sure which I find more offensive.

My eyes return to the road in front of me and it's a reflex reaction. I slam on my brakes when a rabbit darts in front of me.

And Jordan crashes into me from behind...

We meet by our bumpers, ready to assess the damage, and exchange words, none of them nice. We're lucky we were going my speed and not his, but still, I feel cheated. The damage to my car is so much worse than his.

"What'd you slam on your breaks for?" he kicks things off.

"Why were you riding my ass?" That sounded a lot less cringy in my head.

"If you were going any slower, you'd be going backwards," he volleys back, glancing me over. His gaze dips into the tank top that had been beneath an apron all day and for good reason.

"I was going as fast as my car can handle." I cross my arms over my chest before he gets too carried away.

"Fair point." He crosses his arms too, over his uncharacteristically shirted chest. His focus waffles a bit, like he lost his train of thought, but it soon lands on the mangled piece of mediocrity before him, something he wouldn't be caught dead in, even fresh off the lot.

"And there was a..." I feel stupid saying it... "A bunny." I look to the woods, into the direction it ran, blocking the mid-afternoon sun from my eyes, as if that would somehow help me see something that is undoubtedly long gone.

"A bunny?" he repeats, and I can hear his smirk.

My eyes slice back toward him and it seems to catch him off guard. "You don't believe me?"

If I've made him uncomfortable, he recovers quickly. "I don't believe anyone sane would take on thousands of dollars of damage for a damn bunny." 

He's not wrong. And I concede with a shrug. "What now? Do we call the police?"

"No!" he blurts before he really thinks that through. "We're not on the best terms."

"Shocking," I say as dry as the sun-scorched dirt beneath my feet.

"Listen, Natalie. It's complicated."

"It's Amanda," I correct him. "That's my sister's name!"

"Sorry. I always get you two confused."

"We're nothing alike," I remind him.

"That, I remember..." His dark eyes sparkle.

As hypnotic as they may be, he's hit a nerve. I've spent the last four years trying to remove myself from Natalie's shadow, and other than sports, she's good at everything. It took blood, sweat, and tears that another youngest child should have some respect for.

"Would I ever call you Gabriel or Tyler? No, Jordan, I wouldn't." I recite all their names just to prove to him that I actually pay attention. "And it would be a whole lot less complicated if you stop pissing off your neighbors!"

"Is this about that party?"

"Parties," I set the record straight. "Does your grandmother know what you and your friends are up to, on her property? Where is she, anyway? She was the only person who ever tried to keep you boys in check. I can't say it ever worked, but—"

"She's dead," he interrupts, pocketing his hands, his eyes wandering to the ditch on the side of the road. And I swear I can see him sway, like he's seasick all of a sudden.

"I'm..." Still trying to process that... "Sorry," I manage to get out. "I didn't know. She was always so nice, and clearly loved you guys, despite what you put her through on a daily basis."

He cracks a slight smile. "You may be the only other person on earth who actually appreciates that. It's almost forgivable that you drive so slow."

"I feel bad. It's almost forgivable that you've been keeping me up all night." My eyes widen at his smirk. "And not in a good way," I throw in. It's a lie and I think he's getting a whiff of that.

His amusement is short-lived. Before he has a chance to comment, he's careening toward the ditch he had his eye on earlier. It could be the heat, stress, and grief, and heck, he's probably hungover. The boy is a mess, and I wish I'd picked up on that sooner. I may have gone easier on him. He's clearly having a worse year than I am.

He's hunched over, about to topple in. And that's when I come up beside him and put one hand on his hip. I take his other hand in mine.

"I don't need you to see this..."

"It's all right," I assure him. "I'm usually the hair holder. And I want to go to medical school someday. I may as well get used to it."

He somehow pulls himself together, no guts spilled. After a few curses, deep breaths, and mumbled apologies, we return to our collision. In light of everything else, the damage doesn't look as bad as it did five minutes ago.

"How long are you in town?" I ask.

"I'm not sure. The vultures are getting hungry and wanted the house for sale, like, as soon as her body went cold. I'm supposed to be fixing a few things, but I'm in no hurry. They can fucking wait."

I nod once, conflicted. I shouldn't have asked. I shouldn't get attached, but it seems unconscionable at this point to pat him on the back and say, have a nice life.

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

He shrugs, and I can tell by his expression, it isn't a blow-off. He just doesn't know where to start.

I try to help him out: "I can bring over lemonade and the cookies I just made. Then, maybe we can discuss cars, grandmothers, and all the ways we're not like our siblings?"

Whether it's the cookies or the prospect of company, it seems to bring about the return of hope. "That should keep us busy for a while." 

I honestly thought it would be harder to win him over. Hard to talk to him in general.

We get in our cars and roll to our houses, Jordan keeping a safe distance behind me this time.

This continues to be an experiment in progress, and it just took on a whole new set of variables—anything that could arise from us being "neighborly" and his apparent willingness to adapt to these circumstances. I'm guessing my sleep schedule won't improve, and "crazy" will only evolve and escalate. But it's summer, the last one of its kind, and I may as well embrace it.  

****ALL NEW CONTENT is coming soon ****