"Hey, neighbordude," she called from behind the screen door, "you got a minute? Can you give me a hand?"
I'd just finished mowing the front lawn, was sweaty, dirty, and very hot. "Got something cold to drink? If you do, I can make a few minutes," I responded.
"Alright. I just need you for, I dunno, a half hour or so. My dad and his wife are gone and I need some help. Look, the doors unlocked. I'll be in the kitchen."
Those were probably the longest sentences she's said to me since moving back in with her dad and likely the only things she'd ever said of her own accord. I'd kinda given up getting her to talk beyond hi, bye, and an occasional question about where her father was or if she'd have her friends move their car so it wasn't blocking my driveway. She was always nice, but rarely had anything to say to me.
To be quite honest, I was surprised she even wanted my help. We had a strange history, her and I. Not in a bad way, but it seemed I was always either inconveniencing her or getting her in trouble.
Three years ago, she moved in with her father after graduating high school. Apparently she'd fallen out with her mother again and this was her routine - to go back and forth. Alonzo, her father, kept a pretty quiet life and rarely had visitors. He and I would get together once or twice a week for a glass of scotch or some gin drink and talk shit about politics. Well, no sooner had she moved in than his house seemed to be a hub of activity. Her girlfriends would come and go at all hours of the day or night. And for some reason, they liked to park with their cars half way in front of the driveway to my house, either keeping me in or out of my driveway. You'd almost think I was asking her to mow my lawn or weed my garden after I asked her to have the car moved... every single time.
The first time Alonzo left her alone while he flew back to Italy (yeah, he's Italian), she had a party. I got up Saturday morning to run some errands and my lawn, as well as the street between our houses, was littered with beer cans and fast food trash. There was a pile of puke on my lawn and a kid laying on the grass a few feet from it. I nudged him with my foot to make sure he was alive, then knocked on her door. All I told her was that I wanted the shit clean and to get the puking kid off my grass. Well, I may have said something about the puke. A few weeks later, I asked Alonzo about the kid. He, of course, had no idea that his daughter hosted a party at his house.
Last spring, I was reading the paper and saw a picture of a girl who looked a lot like her standing next to a Blazer that looked a lot like Alonzo's. It, however, was hooked up to a tow truck. The caption was something about cars being towed for a road race we have here every spring. A few days later, Alonzo and I were drinking some conjac on the back porch and I asked him about the incident and how much it cost to have the Blazer towed. He looked at me like I was crazy, then I went to the recycle bin and grabbed the paper. He apparently had no idea about it. I guess I could go on, but that seemed to be the boundaries of our... relationship. Move cars, clean shit up, and I don't say anything else to Alonzo. Well, I'd still say hi and bye if I saw her outside and either of us was coming or going.
After the towing fiasco, I tried to keep my mouth shut. She disappeared at the end of that summer. Alonzo said she'd taken a job in Nevada or something vague. I didn't ask any questions, but it was obvious she left on bad terms. When we'd have too much to drink, he'd occasionally say something about how he wished she'd get her shit together, but that was about it.
I walked up the steps to Alonzo's house and she'd left the door cracked. I pushed it open and was greeted by a blast of cold, air conditioned air and the ugly brown shag carpet that was probably in the house when it was built 20 years ago. I was always giving Alonzo shit about it. I knowingly made my way up the half-stairs of the split level and walked into the kitchen. There was a Corona on the counter with a slice of lime shoved in the bottle.
"Thanks for the beer," I called.
"I'll be right out," her voice called from somewhere in the bottom of Alonzo's split level house, "just a minute."
"Take your time," I yelled in response, pulling up a chair to the bar counter and taking a long pull of the beer. After five minutes of waiting, enjoying the cool air and listening to the hum of the air conditioner, I heard her coming up the stairs behind me. I turned and was stunned.
She was walking up the last few stairs, holding a dress so it wouldn't fall down her with one hand and holding a tall drink of some sort in the other. Her dark auburn hair fell over her shoulders and she looked... sexy.
"What?" she said, a little nervous.
"Well, for the last few years, all I've ever seen you wear is baggy sweats, ratty t-shirts, and you were either wearing hats or had your hair pulled up in a bun. Hell, you clean up nice."
She laughed and said, "thanks, I guess."
