Revved To The Maxx

“You are going to pay for that.”

“So you’ve said before. I think you’re the one going to pay.” Then I shoved the neck of the beer bottle in the chute and lifted my finger. He yelled as the beer hit him in the face, no doubt stinging as it splashed in his eyes.

I rolled away from the door, trying not to laugh but failing. I covered my mouth, holding in my guffaws. He was furious, thumping on my door.

“You bitch,” he growled into the mail chute, keeping his voice down. “Now you have to clean it up.”

“Nope,” I responded. “It’s outside my apartment. That’s the custodian’s job. Oh, that’s you. Get to it.”

“You are going to regret this.”

He finally walked away, dragging his sore leg, and I sagged against the door.

“Good luck with that, asshole,” I whispered.I spent the rest of the day worried and anxious. I napped fitfully, showered in the middle of the night, and by six on Friday morning, I was ready. My bag was packed, my knapsack strapped on my back, and I stood by the door, listening. I heard the click of Terry’s door opening around quarter to seven, and his footsteps echoed in the hall in the early morning stillness. The rasp of his low chuckle as he passed my door made me want to throw up, but I remained still and silent by the door. The noise of the stairwell door shutting at the other end of the hall seemed to take forever. I waited five minutes, then I moved as quickly as I could.

Late last night, I had discovered a mouse in the trap under the cupboard. I always trapped them then freed them outside. I hated killing them. At first, I thought I would simply release it back into the apartment, then I had a better idea. I knew Terry detested mice. I had heard him scream once when he thought he saw one in his apartment.

I grabbed the trap and hurried to Terry’s door. Taking in a deep breath for bravery, I reached in and lifted out the mouse by his tail, then quickly slid him through the mail chute, repressing a shudder. I didn’t mind them, but I didn’t like to touch them either.

“Run, little guy. Wreak havoc.”

I addressed the door sarcastically, “Thanks for being such a great human, asshole.”

Then, I grabbed my suitcase and knapsack, hurrying down the steps holding up the suitcase, the weight of it making me clumsy and slow. But I made it down the steps, and I was out the door and into the dim light. I set down the suitcase, pulling it behind me, and began to run. I went as fast as I could until I turned the corner, pausing to catch my breath. I peeked behind me, but there was no one around. I took a moment to collect myself, then I hurried down the street, determined to get as far away as possible, as quickly as I could.

I wouldn’t relax until I was out of this city.

An hour later, I was at the bus station, ticket in hand. I sat in the corner, watching the busy crowds, willing time to go faster. I had locked my apartment door and left things the way they looked on Wednesday. The bread on the counter, a scarf I rarely used draped over the chair, the bedding still there. If the asshole went in again, he would simply think I was out. I doubted he would be going into my closet. He had no reason to suspect I was gone and zero idea I was at the bus station. Still, I couldn’t relax. I tapped out an uneven rhythm with my toes, sipped a cup of coffee, and used my laptop to check the news. I had sent Cycleman a message confirming Saturday again, and his reply had been short but affirmative. I had also asked him his name, and his reply was one word.

MaxxI was glad he had never confirmed I was a guy, but I would deal with that tomorrow. I was glad to have confirmation he wasn’t backing out. Part of me whispered I was being stupid doing this. Jumping from the proverbial frying pan into the fire—but at this point, I felt I had nothing to lose. I couldn’t stay, so leaving was my only option. If he was an asshole, I would find something else.

Finally, my bus was announced, my suitcase stowed underneath, and we were on our way. When the door closed and we began to move, I felt a long tremor of relief flood me, and I had to cover my eyes with my hand as a wave of emotion hit me.

“Okay there, dear?” the elderly woman sitting beside me asked. With her gray hair and twinkling blue eyes, she looked like a picture postcard for a grandmother.