Amos

How to boil celery (5)

After serving dinner I began to pack. I follow my instincts the entire time since they seemed to be right before.
I tell my mom I have to run an errand and before I know it I’m on my bike with Glen’s dinner in my basket.
It’s dark outside and the few street lamps illuminating were old and giving off yellowish shadows like run down flashlights. The moon sat heavily in its full roundness on the sky with the freckled stars around it.
I concentrated on the road, trying to avoid the street and grass.
The Snapper Creek apartments were falling apart and obvious even from afar, the cracked walls giving way to the pipes and tar running along the sides from tiles blown off from the ceiling. As I neared it, I coughed heavily, covering my nose from the repugnant smell of the overflowing creek alongside it.
I took the bag of food and ran to the main door.
On the property list half the names were faded and none were legible if at all there. I tried the handle and as the little bell jingled it gave way and I was able to slip inside. The rusty chandelier seizured before steadying into a hiccupping trance as I looked for the main office, the wallpaper with green stripes peeled into yellow ones, the wooden doors scratched and maltreated by the long years. I found one with a blackened plaque that was labeled office.
I knocked loudly in hopes of an answer and waited patiently as I heard grumbling on the other side.
The person who opened the door was in a stained night shirt and boxers faded away of any possible brand. The man was balding on the crown of his head but overflowing everywhere else, both hair and skin wise.
“Wadda you wants?” He grunted.
“Do you know where Glen lives?”
He snorted swallowing whatever had made him grunt. “The Canadian feller?”
I nodded meekly.
“Second floor, first room to da left.” He slammed the door amongst finishing the words.
I blew out some breath and looked around catching the beginning of the stairs that were complete. Going up them I looked at the number of the door to my left.
210.
I knocked briskly. And again when he didn’t answer.
“Glen? Are you there?” I called loudly through the door.
Someone from another apartment yelled at me to lower my voice and whilst reminding myself of why I was there, I sat on the first step of the stairs, assuming he wasn’t home and would be soon.
An hour passed and I looked at my watch.
Midnight.
He had school tomorrow… where was he?
I called my brother’s cell phone and asked him if he knew Glen’s number.
I sighed when he told me Glen didn’t have a number and snapping my cell phone closed, I waited for him to arrive.
There is a fine line where recklessness merges with stupidity.
I heard that in my head and didn’t realize I wasn’t thinking it but hearing it when something cold touched my face.
My eyes snapped open and I licked my lips from dryness, almost screaming from surprise at Glen’s face being so close to mine. I composed myself, my knuckles relaxing from my death grip on the bag of food.
“Not a very smart place to sleep.” He said tiredly, crouching on the step, by me. His eyes sagged and the smirk completely erased.
“What time is it?” I rubbed my eyes and lips, ashamed at probably having drooled during my nap.
“It’s two in the morning, why aren’t you at home?” He stood, the husk in his voice cracking with exhaustion.
“I…” thinking wasn’t a strong point for me when sleepy. I simply held the bag up to him.
“What’s this?” He juggled the keys in his hand to hold the bag and look inside.
“Dinner.” I murmured drifting back to sleep.
“You brought me dinner?” I heard his voice fade as I began to fall into the unconscious state.
In the distance I could hear the rattle of keys and the screech of a rusty heavy door.
“Marge?”
I obviously wasn’t able to answer.
I heard some cursing and completely passed out.
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I woke up with a terrible back pain as if I had played tennis backwards. I sat up groaning at the stinging along my spine and blinked awake.
The room I was in looked like an empty warehouse. There was a small electric stove with a mini fridge on the floor next to it. I toilet and a sink bared not too far away from it and a seriously tattered couch by the door.
I looked down at my bedding and cursed myself. I was sleeping on a mattress on the floor without a box spring and a reversible comforter. I got out of it, stumbling with disorientation and pain. “Glen?”
I was alone and the single window with the grey panes gave the impression of daylight.
He must be at school.
I looked down at myself and felt unsure about what to feel at the fact that I was fully clothed.
Was I not worth taking advantage of? I practically laughed to myself,
I went to the sink and poured water on my face catching a post it stuck to two more in a message on the fridge.
I picked up the little trail.
‘Marge,
I called your brother last night with your phone and told him you were safe and spending the night. He’s not happy. Thanks for dinner.
Glen’
I closed my eyes in upset. Cedric was so going to make me eat shit all day.
I threw away the note in the garbage bag tied to the handle of the oven and noticed the sparkly cleaned out Styrofoam container of Glen’s ration of the dinner I made last night.
It made it feel slightly worth while. I folded his comforter and aimed for the door, finding another post it.
‘Keep a spare.’
I turned it around and taped to it was a small key.
The spare…to the apartment?
I was gaping but I plucked it out and tried it on the latch. It actually worked. He gave me a spare to his apartment.
Was it because I earned it?
So many things came to mind as I locked behind me, heading down the stairs and looking outside for my bike that had been hidden in between two wild shrubs near the smelly creek.
I was numb, but felt everything at the same time. I got on my bike and rode home.
The wind reddened my cheeks and tangled my curls.
Was this considered a step forward?