Chance Encounters (24 page)

I drive past the house about fifty yards so that I can back into the driveway where the rear of the U-Haul will face the front door. Before I put the gear shift in reverse, I reach over and shake Kel awake. He’s been passed out since Indiana.

“Kel, wake up,” I whisper. “We’ve reached our 
destination
.”

He stretches his legs out and yawns, then leans his forehead against the window to get a look at our new house. “Hey, there’s a kid in the yard!” Kel says. “Do you think he lives in our house, too?”

“He better not,” I reply. “But he’s probably a neighbor. Hop out and go introduce yourself while I back up.”

When the U-Haul is successfully backed in, I put the gear shift in park, roll down the windows, and kill the engine. My mother pulls in beside me in my Jeep and I watch as she gets out and greets the landlord. I crouch down a few inches in the seat and prop my foot against the dash, watching Kel and his new friend sword fight with imaginary swords in the street. I’m jealous of him. Jealous of the fact that he can accept the move so easily, and I’m stuck being the angry, bitter child.

He was upset when Mom first decided on the move. Mostly because he was in the middle of his little league season. He had friends he would miss, but at the age of nine your best friend is usually imaginary, and transatlantic. Mom subdued him pretty easily by promising he could sign up for hockey, something he wanted to do in Texas. It was a hard sport to come by in the rural south. After she agreed, he was pretty upbeat, if not stoked about Michigan.

I understand why we had to move. Dad had made a respectable living managing a paint store. Mom worked PRN as a nurse when she needed to, but mostly tended to the house and to us. About a month after he died, she was able to find a full-time job. I could see the stress of my father’s death taking its toll on her, along with being the new head of household.

One night over dinner, she explained to us that she wasn’t left with enough income to continue paying all the bills and the mortgage. She said there was a job that could pay her more, but we would have to move. She was offered a job from her old high school friend, Brenda. They grew up together in my mother’s hometown of Ypsilanti, right outside of Detroit. It paid more than anything she could find in Texas, so she had no choice but to accept. I don’t blame her for the move. My grandparents are deceased and she has no one to help her. I understand why we had to do it, but understanding a situation doesn’t always make it easier.

“Layken, you’re dead!” Kel shouts through the open window, thrusting his imaginary sword into my neck. He waits for me to slump over, but I just roll my eyes at him. “I stabbed you. You’re supposed to die!” he says.

“Believe me, I’m already dead,” I mumble as I open the door and climb out. Kel’s shoulders are slumped forward and he’s staring down at the concrete, his imaginary sword limp by his side. Kel’s new friend stands behind him looking just as defeated, causing me to immediately regret the transference of my bad mood.

“I’m already dead,” I say in my best monster voice, “because I’m a 
zombie
!”

They start screaming as I stretch my arms out in front of me, cock my head to the side and make a gurgling sound. “Brains!” I grumble, walking stiff-legged after them around the U-Haul. “Brains!”

I slowly round the front of the U-Haul holding my arms out in front of me when I notice someone holding my brother and his new friend by the collars of their shirts.

“Get ‘em!” The stranger yells as he holds the two screaming boys.

He looks a couple of years older than me and quite a bit taller. “Hot” would be how most girls would describe him, but I’m not most girls. The boys are flailing around and his muscles flex under his sleeves as he tries hard to hold onto them.

Unlike Kel and I, it’s unmistakable these two are siblings. Aside from the obvious age difference, they’re identical. They both have smooth olive skin, the same jet black hair, even the same cropped hair style. He’s laughing as Kel breaks free and starts slicing at him with his “sword.” He looks up at me and mouths “help,” when I realize I’m still frozen in my zombie pose.

My first instinct is to crawl back inside the U-Haul and hide on the floorboard for the remainder of my life. Instead, I yell “brains” once more and lunge forward, pretending to bite the younger boy on top of his head. I grab Kel and his new friend and start tickling them until they melt into heaps on the concrete driveway.

As I straighten up, the older brother extends his hand. “Hey, I’m Will. We live across the street,” he says, pointing to the house directly across from ours.

I reciprocate his handshake. “I’m Layken. I guess I live here,” I say as I glance to the house behind me.

He smiles. Our handshake lingers as neither one of us says anything. I hate awkward moments.

“Well, welcome to Ypsilanti,” he says. He pulls his hand from mine and puts it in his jacket pocket. “Where are you guys moving here from?”

“Texas?” I reply. I’m not sure why the tail end of my reply comes out like a question. I’m not sure why I’m even analyzing why it came out like a question. I’m not sure why I’m analyzing the reason why I’m analyzing-I’m flustered. It must be the lack of sleep I’ve gotten over the past three days.

“Texas, huh?” he says. He’s rocking back and forth on his heels. The awkwardness intensifies when I fail to respond. He glances down at his brother and bends over, grabbing him by the ankles. “I’ve got to get this little guy to school,” he says as he swings his brother up and over his shoulders. “There’s a cold front coming through tonight. You should try to get as much unloaded today as you can. It’s supposed to last a few days so if you guys need help unloading this afternoon, let me know. We should be home around four.”

“Sure, thanks,” I say. They head across the street and I’m still watching them when Kel stabs me in my lower back. I drop to my knees and clutch at my stomach, crouching forward as Kel climbs on top of me and finishes me off. I glance across the street again and see Will watching us. He shuts his brother’s door, walks around to the driver’s side door and waves goodbye.

It takes us most of the day to unload all of the boxes and furniture. Our landlord helps move the larger items that mom and I can’t lift on our own. We’re too tired to get to the boxes inside the Jeep and agree to put it off until tomorrow. I’m a little disappointed when the U-Haul is finally empty; I no longer have an excuse to solicit Will’s help.

As soon as my bed is put together, I start grabbing boxes labeled with my name on them from the hallway. I get most of them unpacked and my bed made when I notice the furniture in my bedroom casting shadows across the walls. I look out my window and the sun is setting. Either the days are a lot shorter here, or I’ve lost track of time.

In the kitchen, I find Mom and Kel unloading dishes into the cabinets. I climb into one of the six tall chairs at the bar, which also doubles as the dining room table due to the lack of dining room. There isn’t much to this house. When you walk through the front door, there’s a small entryway followed by the living room. The living room is separated from the kitchen by nothing more than a hallway to the left and a window to the right. The living room’s beige carpet is edged by hard wood that leads throughout the rest of the house.

“Everything is so clean here,” my mother says as she continues putting away dishes. “I haven’t seen a single insect.”

Texas has more insects than blades of grass. If you aren’t swatting flies, you’re killing wasps.

“That’s one good thing about Michigan, I guess,” I reply. I open up a box of pizza in front of me and eye the selection.

“
One
 good thing?” She winks at me as she leans across the bar, grabs a pepperoni and pops it in her mouth. “I’d think that would be at least 
two
 good things.”

I pretend I’m not following.

“I saw you talking to that boy this morning,” she says with a smile.

“Oh, please Mom,” I reply as indifferently as I can get away with. “I’m pretty positive we’ll find it no surprise that Texas isn’t the only state inhabited by the male species.” I walk to the refrigerator and grab a soda.

“What’s anabited?” Kel asks.

“Inhabited,” I correct him. “It means to occupy, dwell, reside, populate, squat, 
live
.” My SAT prep courses are paying off.

“Oh, kinda like how we anabited Ypsilanti?” he says.

“Inhabited,” I correct him again. I finish my slice of pizza and take another sip of the soda. “I’m beat, guys. I’m going to bed.”

“You mean you’re going to 
inhabit
 your bedroom?” Kel says.

“You’re a quick learner, young grasshopper.” I bend and kiss the top of his head and retreat to my room.

It feels so good to crawl under the covers. At least my bed is familiar. I close my eyes and try to imagine that I’m in my old bedroom. My old, 
warm
 bedroom. My sheets and pillow are ice cold, so I pull the covers over my head to generate some heat. Note to self: locate the thermostat first thing in the morning.

And that’s exactly what I set out to do as soon as I crawl out of bed and my bare feet meet the ice cold floor beneath them. I grab a sweater out of my closet and throw it on over my pajamas while I search for socks. It’s a futile attempt. I quietly tiptoe down the hallway, trying not to wake anyone while at the same time attempting to expose the least amount of foot as possible to the coldness of the hard wood. As I pass Kel’s room, I spot his Darth Vader house shoes on the floor. I sneak in and slip them on, finally finding some relief as I head into the kitchen.

I look around for the coffee pot, but don’t find it. I remember packing it in the Jeep, which is unfortunate since the Jeep is parked outside. Outside in this absurdly cold weather.

The jackets are nowhere to be found. Septembers in Texas rarely call for jackets. I grab the keys and decide I’ll just have to make a mad dash to the Jeep. I open the front door and some sort of white substance is all over the yard. It takes me a second to realize what it is. Snow? In September? I bend down and scoop some up in my hands and examine it. It doesn’t snow that often in Texas, but when it does it isn’t 
this
 kind of snow. Texas snow is more like miniscule pieces of rock-hard hail. Michigan snow is just how I imagined real snow would be: fluffy, soft, and 
cold
! I quickly drop the snow and dry my hands on my sweatshirt as I head toward the Jeep.

I don’t make it far. The second my Darth Vader house shoes meet the snow dusted concrete, I’m no longer looking at the Jeep in front of me. I’m flat on my back, staring up at the clear blue sky. I immediately feel the pain in my right shoulder and realize I’ve landed on something hard. I reach around and pull a concrete garden gnome out from beneath me, half of his red hat broken off and shattered into pieces. He’s smirking at me. I groan and raise the gnome with my good arm and pull it back, preparing to chuck the thing, when someone stops me.

“That’s not a good idea!”

I immediately recognize Will’s voice. His voice is smooth and soothing like my father’s was, but at the same time has an authoritative edge to it. I sit upright and see him walking up the driveway toward me.

“Are you okay?” he laughs.

“I’ll feel a lot better after I bust this damn thing,” I say, trying to pull myself up with no success.

“You don’t want to do that, gnomes are good luck,” he says as he reaches me. He takes the gnome out of my hands and gently places it on the snow covered grass.

“Yeah,” I reply, taking in the gash on my shoulder that has now formed a bright red circle on my sweater sleeve. “
Real
 good luck.”

Will stops laughing when he sees the blood on my shirt. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I wouldn’t have laughed if I knew you were hurt.” He bends over and takes my uninjured arm and pulls me up. “You need to get a bandage on that.”

“I wouldn’t have a clue where to find one at this point,” I reply, referring to the mounds of unopened boxes we have yet to unpack.

“You’ll have to walk with me. There’s some in our kitchen.”

He removes his jacket and wraps it around my shoulders, holding onto my arm as he walks me across the street. I feel a little pathetic with him assisting me-I can walk on my own. I don’t object though, and I feel hypocritical to the entire feminist movement. I’ve regressed to the damsel in distress.

I remove his jacket and lay it across the back of the couch, then follow him into the kitchen. It’s still dark inside so I assume everyone is still asleep. His house is more spacious than ours. The open floor plans are similar but the living room seems to be a few feet larger. A large bay window with a sitting bench and large pillows looks out over the backyard.

Several family pictures hang along the wall opposite the kitchen. Most of them are of Will and his little brother with a few pictures that include his parents. I walk over to inspect the pictures while Will looks for a bandage. They must have gotten their genes from their dad. In the most recent picture, which still looks a few years dated, his dad has his arms around the two boys and he’s squeezing them together for an impromptu photo. His jet black hair is speckled with gray and a thick black moustache outlines his huge smile. His features are identical to Will’s. They both have eyes that smile when they laugh, exposing perfect white teeth.

Will’s mother is breathtaking. She has long blond hair and, from the pictures at least, looks tall. I can’t pick out any facial features of hers that were passed on to her boys. Maybe Will has her personality. All of the pictures on the wall prove one big difference between our houses-this one is a 
home
.

I walk into the kitchen and take a seat at the bar.

“It needs to be cleaned before you put the bandage on it,” he says as he rolls up his shirt sleeves and turns on the faucet. He’s wearing a pale yellow button-up collared shirt that is slightly transparent under the kitchen lights, revealing the outline of his undershirt. He has broad shoulders and his sleeves are snug around the muscles in his arms. The top of his head meets the cabinet above him and I estimate from the similarities in our kitchens that he stands about six inches taller than me. I’m staring at the pattern on his black tie that’s flipped over his shoulder in an attempt to avoid getting it wet, when he turns the water off and walks back to the bar. I feel my face flush as I grab the wet napkin out of his hands, not proud of the amount of attention his physique is getting from me.