"Do you ever feel like choices are being made for you? Like you have no say in the direction that life takes you? As though you're just holding on to the tail of a kite like mad to make it fly in the right direction? While there are forces at work beyond your understanding who can control you like a puppet on strings? As if-"
"Enough already!" the gentleman sitting next to me barks, causing his head to pop out of his trenchcoat shell, allowing his eyes to be seen from beneath his well worn hat. "I already told you I'm not going to sit next to you if you keep prattling on."
I have so much more to say, but the rebuke of the only other occupant of the covered bus bench, makes my words stick in my throat and they refuse to come out. Instead, I just cram my hands into my jacket's pockets and will my body to collapse in upon itself so as to limit my skin's exposure to the chill, whipping wind.
What a pair we must have seemed to the outside observer. As the man sitting next to me looks like he belongs in a hard boiled, detective movie, what with his trenchcoat tied tightly around his waist and the collar pulled all the way up. Plus, he has on one of those old timey hats that a person of such a profession would wear.
Whereas I look like I belong in a high school baseball game. As I'm wearing my letterman jacket and decade-worn ball cap, a gift from my father who left one day and never came back. I was also wearing some faded, blue jeans that are nearly threadbare in the knees, a direct result of my favorite position, catcher. Lastly, I wear a pair of fairly new gym shoes.
And since I can't talk, lest I annoy my companion, I decide to watch the raindrops as they pelt the asphalt and create puddles every which way I can see. Yeah, it's really coming down and I start to worry that it might flood. But being at the top of a hill means the lower city will have to flood completely before it even touches us.
And since there's no evacuation order being sent out, I figure we're good. I give myself a long stretch, completely ignoring the chill air that shoots through my skin. "Oh boy!" I expel along with a yawn, before taking on a more appropriate pitch. "When do you think that bus is going to get here?"
"Your bus is already gone," the gentleman states flatly and whips a few stray drops of rain off his coat.
What?!" I break forth, hoping that I heard incorrectly. "What do ya mean it's gone?"
"Well," he starts in and casts hawkish eyes from beneath the brim of his hat. "I told you half an hour ago that your bus was here, but you were so focused on waxing philosophical that you waved it off."
"Half an hour ago?" I speak as I try to sort through the information. "Then that means…" I pull back on my sleeve, press the illumination button on my watch and read the bright numbers displayed. "Ten O'clock! I was supposed to be there already!" I reach into my front pocket and withdraw my smart phone, which I try desperately to activate. But no matter how hard I tap the side, or how much I beg, it simply does not work. "Damnit!" My mind returns to the period of time before I was to leave, during which I was so involved in my videogame that I had completely forgotten to plug my phone in. "Well, I gotta go." I bolt from the place.
"Oh, how will I ever manage?" he returns with a heavy air or sarcasm and sinks further in his coat.
I run the entire three blocks that separate me from my home, straight through a torrential rainstorm. All the while cursing my fashion sense that chooses to look cool, rather than wear something practical like a raincoat. But then, how was I to know it's monsoon season?
I'm soon at the front door, pounding on the glass. I stare as best as I can through the fogging window, but all I see is darkness. That's right, mom would have left at least half an hour ago. So much for the ride I was intending to bum off her. Curse my independent streak that had me waiting for a bus instead of receiving a nice, comfortable, dry ride.
And it's in that moment that I remember about the spare key we hide under a rock, only to be replaced by the memory of it being stolen. The house had not been broken into mind you, someone just stole our key. But the locks were changed just in case. I look next door, the old Whittman house stands empty, a perfect place to find shelter.
So, I make tracks and soon find myself on the front porch of the unoccupied building, where I find the front door had been jimmied open by some hooligans. But since I was one such person, I can't say too much. I enter the dusty domicile and take to wringing out my saturated clothes. It isn't much, but it's a start. And it's in the midst of the activity that I can feel eyes upon me. Someone is watching me.
I gaze into the pitch black interior. "Who's there?!" I demand and stay perfectly still.
Laughter echoes through the seemingly empty room and my blood turns cold. A beam of light bursts from a flashlight illuminating a face pulled from my worst fears.
"Cindy?!" I blurt as I back away. "What are you doing here?" I further query as my mind tries to understand how my ex-girlfriend, who had moved far away, is now back.
"How's it going Reg?" she inquires after my wellbeing as she draws closer, displaying the bat in her hand.
My mind scrambles with the million questions it has, but they all flee when I catch sight of the weapon.
I reach behind me as I pray there's something I can use to defend myself, when my hand catches hold of something. It isn't heavy, but it's cumbersome. My mind struggles to identify the object, when it hits me, I know exactly what it is. There's an old, ten-speed bicycle missing its kickstand that the vandals had ignored and is propped against the wall nearest my back.
The very leisure device that I had stripped of both wheels and brakes. Now, it's my only weapon. But one of my favorite entertainers is Jackie Chan and I always watch closely when he uses unconventional weapons. Though, not being very skilled, I mostly employ the frame as a kind of shield against her wild swings.
Round and round our exchange goes and I thank my baseball training for making me a lean swinging machine. But neither of us is any kind of warrior and it isn't long before we're both worn out. Each of us drop our respective weapon and collapse against the wall, nearest the open door, nearer to each other. Cindy leans her head against my shoulder. My crazy ex-girlfriend. It's always a wild ride whenever she's around.