Ep. 2

To my surprise, time flew by faster than I could have ever hoped for. Patrick never did press on. Probe into the finer details, as they say. Prodding me like some foreign new substance that needed to be studied from who knows where. About its possibilities and hopes that its mysterious discharge may be the missing ingredient to curing cancer or whatever.

As for the others seated in the audience, well, I just tuned them out. No rime or reason outside of not giving a damn. Let’s be honest. It’s hard to care about folks that don’t interest you. Their hobbies, family drama, and self-serving goals are meaningless. Life is already a cesspool of meandering.

I don’t think I am being harsh, but let’s be real. Unless some stranger has some sentimental connection towards you, what’s the point? Caring for everyone in this world is impossible.

Consider taking care of yourself and those you consider close and worth caring for. No point in serving some altruistic view. A one size fits all nonsense. Caring for someone you don’t know is just strange. Why else call them strangers?

Funny how that works out. When does someone stop becoming a stranger and start becoming worth a damn? A peculiar question that no doubt has an endless list of peculiar answers. Take for example, the one hot guy in the room that you never spoke a word to and is now standing by the exit giving you some sneaking glances. It’s not like my heart is pounding like some high school girl with a crush. Although I have to admit, this was a bit more exciting than I had expected.

Bob. Mister, foreign and mysterious Bob. Blown into town, Bob.

The one saving grace to this boring hour and a half of community service. I know it’s not that, but I can’t help but call it that. I mean, no one who does community service ever enjoys it. It’s about the service for those around the community, ain’t it?

In my case, Carl gets some metric that I am trying. While I get, well, to be honest, I guess nothing but getting out of the house. And who knows? Maybe that might shift on the scale to something successful. Ah, who am I kidding?

“Jessie, right?”

Oh, he remembers my name?

“Yeahh...”

“Right on.”

“So, Bob, was it?” You've got to play it cool. “You said you aren’t from around here. Gotta wonder just where ya came from? Did the wind blow you in?”

“I don’t know about any wind. But I can say I have been all over.”

“Cool, cool.”

I tried to act nonchalant, posting up nearby. The thing is, even though he struck up the moment to have me stop in front of him, he didn’t seem to care to continue the conversation. Instead, he seemed adamant about staring off into the bleak void. It left me pondering for a moment. Was he just a pretty face? No substance. Or is he socially awkward?

“Alright, so I’m going to go now, unless...”

Let me clarify. I adjusted my appearance—a flick of the eyelashes, a stray hair removed, posture improved. Not desperate, mind you. I didn’t want to seem eager. Despite my efforts, he seemed oblivious to my hints. He continued gazing into the distance. At first, I thought he was ignoring me, but then I realized his focus was on someone else in our group.

Cheryl.

A curly hair woman with mixed complexion. Honestly, not sure what sort of individual she is outside of the status of being a single mom who enjoys making cocktails for herself when her kids are at school.

Right, and the ex who is a firefighter.

Point is, she has a pretty face. She talked a lot about many things, leaving her lips summing up how desperate she was to get back into the market.

Nothing too exciting, I guess. But there, for some reason, it ignited a spark of intrigue in Bob’s eyes, missing from our light discussion. He reacted as if witnessing fireworks for the first time. That awe-struck, star-struck feeling that leaves you speechless, absorbed in only the moment while the rest of the world passes you by in slow motion.

It stung a bit when he kicked off the wall. Pep in his step. But whatever. It didn’t matter if I saw him again or not. I’m never coming back to one of these things again, given how boring they are. All I knew was that it was growing late, and I craved the comfort of my sheets at home. Binge a few shows. Maybe crack open a bottle of wine. Maybe a few and enjoy the taste of that forbidden fruit. A precious red blend with a Tuscany origin.

Kidding. Kidding. Maybe.

Jokes are only jokes when you can laugh at them. Though I hear no giggles. It was no laughing matter when I came face to face with Carl standing at my door.

Men these days, I tell ya.

“You've got some nerve showing up here, ya know?”

“You weren’t answering my calls, so I decided to visit. Doubt that you have heard, but some folks have gone missing around town as of late. I worry about you. Even if you don’t believe me.”

“Uh-huh. What you got there?”

“Brought some Chinese food, as I figured you would be hungry.”

That brown paper bag smelled just like those late night greasy spoons — you know, the ones that barely passed their health inspection. But I won’t be the one making that call. Because between the steamed vegetables and the sometimes strands of hair I find in my wonton soup, I have to say; the place has excellent customer service. They never miss a chance to give you a fortune cookie that always seemed to speak to you in an otherworldly manner about how shit your life choices are.

But who knows, maybe one of these days my luck will change. The pendulum swings the other way, and I score tonight’s luck numbers. Not a soul will know when I am gone. Carl will just have to wait for the postcard marked with Jamaica on the back.

Too bad though, because the truth is….

“I hate Chinese food.”

As a girl with morals, I have an obligation to stand by them when they are being tested. I was still angry with him. Had every right to be. He can check up on me as much as he wants, but that doesn’t excuse his actions. He handcuffed me, his own sister, and threatened to arrest me if I didn’t seek “help”.

Any reasonable person would be mad about that, right? Doesn’t matter what he brought. It doesn’t matter how good the smell of the stir-fried noodles, shrimp fried rice, and chicken and broccoli mixing in a dangerous amount of soy sauce stirred together into the sultry invitation that called to me.

“You hate—”

“Yeah, you heard me,” I pressed. Crossing my arms and doubling down. “I hate Chinese food.”

“Huh? I even went to get an extra serving of egg rolls...”

Before I knew it, my stomach spoke on my behalf without my consent. It truly be those that are closest to you that speak the loudest. The cursed thing needs to be cut out at its source and left to hang for committing such treason.

“Fine, I will take it,” I confessed. “This doesn’t mean I forgive you, so wipe that sly grin off your face.”

I will say, getting that extra serving of egg rolls might have saved him a seat in first class right next to me. However, I still had a point that needed to be made.

“By the way, while we’re at it, let me tell you how terrible that place is that you recommended attending. Those people—not a soul is smiling. The A/C is on full blast to the point I might actually sneeze ice. And the snacks—don’t get me started on those, but I believe they are all expired months past their best-by date. Oh, and one more thing, I swear the guy in charge has a thing for me.”

“Does he now? He must have terrible taste.”

Wicked. Who would have thought the rookie on the force, my younger brother, would have so much bark to his bite today?

“You know what? For that, we aren’t splitting the egg rolls.”

“I am just teasing,” he answered. “Doesn’t matter. I just stopped by to check on you.”

Stop by?! Seriously?! Look, I know my place isn’t that far that he can’t stop in between his patrols, but this wasn’t that.

Something about him was different. There was pride in his tone. Pep in his step. I had seen all this once before. It was after he got rejected by every girl he asked to prom. Two, by the way. They were the cheerleaders of the school and were dating the quarterback. Yes, the same guy. Neither knew.

Fast-forward to prom night, and he came back with a girl who stole his heart. Too bad she went and moved to the big city. I think she is some hotshot reporter now.

“Well, who is she?”

“Who’s who?”

“You’re seeing someone! Look at you! You can’t even stop smiling now. Caught you red-handed. Is that where you’re going? Clocking off shift early, still with your uniform on to impress some girl.”

“She is not some girl.”

“Ohhhh, so there is someone. What’s her name? How old is she? Is she older or younger? Is she older than me? What does she do?”

“What’s with the 21-questions?”

“Why? You are so used to asking them but not answering them?”

Carl had a thing about him. Where he would get annoyed but not bothered in the sense that he blows up in your face. Instead, he would shut down with a little grouchy expression, all hoping to prevent any escalation.

Didn’t matter what you did or what you said. He would not speak anymore on the topic.

Still, you have to try.

“Carl…”

Of course, he didn’t answer. Zipped up with his hand on his waist next to his shiny standard issue firearm, they give all the cops in town these days.

“Come ooon. Don’t be like that. Come back. You’re going to leave all this for me to finish all by my lonesome? Fine, I’ll split the egg rolls with ya. Just stick around with me a bit longer.”

“I’ll call you later.”