I’m not going to be strung along. I’m not going to let him treat me like a pair of shoes he puts on once in a while.
Driving my car around the block, I park on the next street over. He’s going to talk to me, even if I have to trick him to answer the door.
There’s a car in the driveway, it’s old and rusted, with a broken taillight, and a cracked rear bumper. Most of the house is dark, but there’s a subtle glow of light in the picture window. The bulb outside the front door is missing completely, and tall grass tickles my calves as I climb the steps. Listening for a second, the house is silent.
Knock knock
No one answers. Holding my breath, my knuckles graze the outside of the wood as I knock again. Leaning in, I expect to hear footsteps, maybe some chatter, or someone moving around inside. But again I’m met with silence.
He doesn’t answer his phone, his doesn’t answer his texts, and now, he doesn’t answer his door.
Pressing my face against the picture window by the door, I attempt to look inside. The window is covered by a thick set of curtains, or maybe it’s a sheet, it’s hard for me to tell from out here.
Walking around the side of the house, I tip-toe through the thick grass, and try the back door. It’s locked.
Damn it. Now what?
Going back to the front, I see movement against the window, and hear the door crack open. “Who the fuck is there?” a man’s voice shoots out into the darkness.
“Hi,” I say, slowly walking back up the steps. “Is, uh, is Max home?”
“Who the fuck is asking?” The man opens the door wider, and I’m smacked instantly with the strong scent of liquor. “What did that boy get himself into now?”
He sways on his heels, almost falling off balance. Grabbing the threshold, he steadies himself. This must be his father. I can see the resemblance. Same color hair, same facial structure, same deadpan stare.
“Oh, no, he’s not in any trouble. My name’s Prairie, I go to school with him.”
“Oh, well he ain’t fucking home then.” His father starts to close the door, but I stop him.
“Wait, do you know where he is?”
“I’m not his damn keeper.” Scrunching his face, he lets his head fall back as he scoffs. “Does it look like I give a fuck where he is?” Holding out his arm, beer in hand, he points a shaky finger at his chest. “He’s an adult, I don’t need to keep tabs.”
The door slams shut on my face, shaking the front of the house. I’m not taking his answer. I honestly don’t even believe his father. The guy is so piss drunk he probably wouldn’t even recognize his own son in a lineup.
Walking back around the house, the backyard is so dark I can hardly see a foot in front of me. Night seems to have flipped on out of nowhere. Stubbing my foot on a large branch, I stumble forward, and catch myself on the side of the house.
There’s an open window in the back, and I can see a dim light inside. Looking around, I find a recycling bin, and drag it under the window.
Climbing on top, I poke my eyes up over the ledge. Scanning side to side quietly, I’m looking in a teenager’s bedroom. There are posters on the wall of a few bands I never heard of. The bed isn’t made, there are clothes strewn on the floor.
Dropping back down to flat feet, my brain fights with my emotions. This is Max’s room, it has to be. A piece of me wants to go in, and wait for him to come home, while the other part knows I should just get the hell out of here and forget this whole thing.
Screw it. I’m going for it.
Wrapping my hands over the windowsill, I use my upper body to lift myself into the window. Bending my torso over the edge, I throw my leg over and climb inside. Dropping down to the floor, I land quietly.
Not that I’m too worried, his father seems drunk enough to not know his head from his asshole, and probably doesn’t even remember that I came looking for his son.
I know I shouldn’t poke around his room, this is his space, only I can’t help myself. He has some books on a shelf to my right.
World War Z
Resident Evil
War of The Worlds. . .
He likes zombies, that’s easy to see. He has every graphic novel of the Walking Dead, Ghost in The Shell, Spawn, and some anime I’m not familiar with.
His walls are decorated with band posters, from Soul Fly to Local H, records are stacked in his headboard, and his radio looks more than used, it looks abused.