The Boxer and I

Ten

       "It's not that high," Jake responded, making my eyes snap shut.

       "Jake, it's like ten feet tall, I'm going to die." I deadpanned.

       "No, you're more afraid of getting one of your nails chipped." I grinned at that, outstretching my fingers to look at my freshly painted black nails. I was into acrylics. "I would let you in, but if my mum finds out she'll put me on a skewer and serve me as sheesh kebab, so come on Brine, don't be a pussy."

      "Um, excuse you, a pussy is more hard core than a dick, they have to squeeze a miniature human being out of a tiny hole," I argue, waiting for the repulsed reply.

       I was known primarily for my lack of filter when it came to speaking.

       "Brine, I'm gonna ignore what you just said because I want my dinner to stay down. Are you gonna climb it or what?"

       I sighed through my nose, lips sealed in a tight line, fighting the urge to curve at his words. Anne Lloyd was strict but it was for Jake's own good, he needed someone to put him in his place every once in a while.

       "You're responsible for my death," I told him with a serious tone. His laugh echoed from the other side. "I'll be ten minutes, meet me in the back garden." I finished before hanging up the phone.

       Taking in the spiky poles that made up the gate that towered over me, I attempted to climb over the gate three times before I finally made it to the other side, with a few scratches to show for it.

       Unlike those times, he's now stood in front of the closed gate, hands in pockets and eyes watching my beat-up car as I slow down parallel to the pavement that he stands on. As the car comes to a halt, he approaches my driver's window, bending slightly to be at my eye level. It's the eyes, they always have, and will always leave me weak. They behold such a unique colour that it would be an understatement to just say it's a mixture of just green and blue. More like they're the colour of a glistening ocean under the high afternoon sun and clear blue sky.

       Look at me, such a poet.

       With jittery hands, I press down a button that unwinds the window.

       "This car sounds like it's being murdered," is the first thing that he says with his typical crooked smile.

       I'm glad it's typical Jake.

       "At least it's cheaper than a Range Rover," my lips curve back at him.

       "Speaking of which, where is yours?"

       "Lily is in Australia," I say, putting extra emphasis on the name which he refused (and seems to refuse still) to call it by. My response receives a chuckle from him.

       "Oh yeah, Lily, I remember," he rolls his eyes, mockingly, and attempts to open the door handle, but it's locked. "You going to let me in then?" He says as I unlock it.

       Surprised that his tall, muscular frame can fit into this two door car, it's oddly satisfying seeing him place himself like a puzzle piece into the passenger seat and secure the seat belt. He turns to face me, the car light making his eyes glitter.

       "So, do you wanna drive or are we just gonna sit here like a pair of pansies?" He says, receiving a laugh from me.

       "You know you're calling yourself a sissy, right?"

       "I dunno, I just got it off Madagascar, you know, when King Julian was saying it,"

       Again, another laugh escapes me, "you still watch that?"