Friend-Zoned (Friend-Zoned 1)

h as she tells me, “Girl, you got chocolate all up in yo’ teeth!”

My eyes widen, I can feel the warm blush rise on my cheeks.

Molly is a really cool neighbor. She is in her fifties, African American and small but full of fire. Every time I see her I’m mesmerized by her outfits. They’re always traditional African garments and wraps with fantastic patterns and are usually beaded. Her husband died ten years ago and they never had children so she decided to downsize by selling her house and buying an apartment instead. When I met Molly, I felt like I had won the neighbor lottery.

Molly was wary of me at first. Until I invited to her eat dinner with me one night and she tried my cupcakes. It’s safe to say that Molly and I are good friends now.

Embarrassment seeps through my pores. I squeak, “Can I use your mirror?”

She places a hand on her hip and taps her toes. She asks, “You holdin’ out on me, baby girl?”

Um, what?

I whisper, “Um, what?” My face must show my confusion because she keeps talking.

She sternly asks, “You eatin’ those cupcakes behind my back?”

Oh!

I feel a bubble of laughter rise in throat. I chuckle and say, “If you do me this favor, I’ll save you a couple. ”

She smiles and responds, “Deal. You know where the mirror is, sugar. ”

I quickly fix myself then explain to Molly about the movers. Luckily, she didn’t have plans for the morning. Molly has one of my spare keys; she normally feeds and watches Bear for me when I’m out of town hunting new suppliers for Safira.

I pack six of the cupcakes into a container, give Molly a big hug and make my way to my car.

I love my car. It’s a convertible.

A 1975 VW Yellow Super Beetle. The girls call it my Dung Beetle.

It’s slightly rusted and the leather top has holes in it so when it rains I have to cover it with a tarp.

It has character. It’s my baby.

I approach the driver’s side door and jiggle the handle. I depress the button.

Nothing happens.

I jiggle harder. Try the button again.

Still nothing.

I jiggle hard and knee the door. I hear it. Click.

Bingo!

I open the door, sit down and place my cupcakes on the passenger side floor. I feel a headache coming on.

Mental note: take some aspirin.

I put the key in the ignition and turn. Nothing happens.

My forehead falls forward between my hands onto the steering wheel with a thump.

Le Sigh.

***