memento vivere

chapter three

I guess she's in one of those moods tonight.

I don't have time to worry about her, though. How am I supposed to do this? I can't even bring myself to look in the direction of his house, much less actually go to it and have to talk to him again. I'm not sure how I plan to go back to my hiding spot either. I guess I'll have to find a new one because the path is literally right beside his driveway..

I keep standing there in our yard, arms crossed with the dish tucked under close to my chest because I'm cold and hell bent on not going.. But as time passes and the colder it gets, a scene starts playing out in my head, much to my dismay. It's him with no warm food because obviously he's just moved here, he probably hasn't had the chance to go grocery shopping yet.. Realistically, he's probably going out to eat with friends or something but I mean, my brain is really laying it on thick. Making me imagine him standing there in front of an empty fridge, stomach gurgling loudly.. Although if I really care for his well being, I'd toss this dish into the woods and call it a night.. But alas, it's hard to tell whose side my brain and heart is on and I start walking..

If there's one thing I inherited from my mama, it's that empathetic trait which usually doesn't cause trouble..

But right now, it can fuck all the way off.

I probably haven't even went 50 feet yet and my heart is already pounding away. It's a good thing my hands are still bandaged up and protected because with the way they're shaking, I don't see this dish making it all the way to his house without shattering on the sidewalk.

By some small act of God or a miracle though, I went from just barely outside my house to being 2 feet from his mailbox.. Or what's left of it anyway, it's just a pole. I can see a dim light on in what I assume is the living room and again, much to my displeasure, the red truck is back parked in the driveway. So he's home and I have no excuse.

As much as I wanna toss the dish and run, I can't bring myself to do it. In some sick way, I guess this could be an apology for staring in his windows.. But then I'd have to own up to it. I don't see why it matters since he already knows, but it does.. It's not so much admitting it to him that's the problem, it's admitting it to myself, admitting that I'm an actual fucking perv.

But I'm here now. No turning back.

Just 2 feet from his mailbox. Probably 15 feet from his porch. I had no problem going up on it before so I might as well go ahead and get it done with, that way I can go back home and rip these bandages off, throw these clothes away and play my guitar until I make my fingers bleed.. Again.

I can forget all about this bullshit.

I start up the pathway, counting each stone I step on until my toes hit the very edge of his wooden steps. It's seven between here and there and I find myself wishing for more. The house seems even more strange at night but it's probably just my nerves giving me more shit to be anxious about. Okay, deep breaths. Up I go, four steps between me and his door until I'm finally standing in front of it. I look down and it's funny because now, I'm standing on his welcome mat but it's just a regular one made out of deteriorating rubber. I can see down the main hallway a little thanks to the glass panels on each side of the front door. The yellow glow from the living room is reflecting onto the walls and I can see some photos hanging when I remember that I should probably refrain from looking into any windows ever again and I advert my eyes.

I keep them down now and for whatever reason, that's when I finally get the nerve to knock. My hearts really racing away and if he doesn't hurry up and answer, he's gonna have more broken glass to add to his collection. I wait and I wait and I start to think that maybe I should knock again.. Or maybe I should just fucking leave. Why am I standing here in the first place holding baked unseasoned chicken and artichoke? Not even a dog would want this shit. If I really needed a distraction against a dog and this is all I had, I'd be up shit creek.. The dog would probably bite me for even offering such awful food. It'd take it as an insult. At least I could throw the glass at it..

All of a sudden, I hear a noise and that's when I look up and realize that mid internal monologue, someone has already opened the front door and is just standing there, staring.

And it isn't the same guy from earlier.

We just stare at each other until my brain starts to work and I need to say something before it gets anymore awkward.

"Uhm.. Hey.. I think I'm at the wrong house, I'm sorry..-" I say and start to leave, thinking maybe this could be my way out and I somehow manage to make things awkward anyway. That's when I hear him laugh.

"You lookin' for Eddie?"

I turn back and just keep staring, probably looking really stupid just standing there with my mouth hung open, holding a glorified frozen tv dinner with dirty clothes and over bandaged hands. It doesn't help that I don't even know who I'm looking for. Should I describe him?

"Uh.. I guess? I'm not really sure of his name.."

The guy laughs again and tells me to hold on, then yells into the house. It takes a few seconds but I hear footsteps upstairs and then they come flying down the staircase. There's some quick, hushed chatter behind the door and I feel out of the loop until it opens wider and there he stands. Seeing him again makes me even more nervous than I was before, knowing that he knows I know. Should I bring up the notebook? Mention what he wrote? I don't know. Should I just evaporate into space and be done? That'd be ideal.

His hair is pulled back into a low bun and he's wearing different clothes. No shirt this time, just pants that I've somehow seen before and can't quite place. I can feel my cheeks flushing as I stare because this is the second time I've seen him shirtless and let me tell you, the sight isn't bad at all..

I keep sneaking glances and he, Eddie I assume, nods at the other guy I guess as a thank you, and the guy retreats back into the house. Eddie steps out onto the porch, pulling the door shut behind him and in an instant, it's just me and him in the quiet night and I'm terrified he can hear my heartbeat so I clear my throat to try and cover it up. He's just looking at me like before, studying me and I find myself wishing I had at least changed.

He crosses his arms and leans back against the doorframe, a small smile forming on his lips, and even though it's colder than hell out here, I feel sweat start to bead my forehead. I can tell he's waiting on me to speak first again, which isn't fair since this is his house but I guess it makes sense, since I'm the one who knocked.

Then I realize why he's smiling.

I knocked.