Chance Encounters

“He better not,” I reply. “But he’s probably a neighbor. Hop out and go introduce yourself while I back up.”

When the U-Haul is successfully backed in, I put the gear shift in park, roll down the windows, and kill the engine. My mother pulls in beside me in my Jeep and I watch as she gets out and greets the landlord. I crouch down a few inches in the seat and prop my foot against the dash, watching Kel and his new friend sword fight with imaginary swords in the street. I’m jealous of him. Jealous of the fact that he can accept the move so easily, and I’m stuck being the angry, bitter child.

He was upset when Mom f

irst decided on the move. Mostly because he was in the middle of his little league season. He had friends he would miss, but at the age of nine your best friend is usually imaginary, and transatlantic. Mom subdued him pretty easily by promising he could sign up for hockey, something he wanted to do in Texas. It was a hard sport to come by in the rural south. After she agreed, he was pretty upbeat, if not stoked about Michigan.

I understand why we had to move. Dad had made a respectable living managing a paint store. Mom worked PRN as a nurse when she needed to, but mostly tended to the house and to us. About a month after he died, she was able to find a full-time job. I could see the stress of my father’s death taking its toll on her, along with being the new head of household.

One night over dinner, she explained to us that she wasn’t left with enough income to continue paying all the bills and the mortgage. She said there was a job that could pay her more, but we would have to move. She was offered a job from her old high school friend, Brenda. They grew up together in my mother’s hometown of Ypsilanti, right outside of Detroit. It paid more than anything she could find in Texas, so she had no choice but to accept. I don’t blame her for the move. My grandparents are deceased and she has no one to help her. I understand why we had to do it, but understanding a situation doesn’t always make it easier.

“Layken, you’re dead!” Kel shouts through the open window, thrusting his imaginary sword into my neck. He waits for me to slump over, but I just roll my eyes at him. “I stabbed you. You’re supposed to die!” he says.

“Believe me, I’m already dead,” I mumble as I open the door and climb out. Kel’s shoulders are slumped forward and he’s staring down at the concrete, his imaginary sword limp by his side. Kel’s new friend stands behind him looking just as defeated, causing me to immediately regret the transference of my bad mood.

“I’m already dead,” I say in my best monster voice, “because I’m a zombie!”

They start screaming as I stretch my arms out in front of me, cock my head to the side and make a gurgling sound. “Brains!” I grumble, walking stiff-legged after them around the U-Haul. “Brains!”

I slowly round the front of the U-Haul holding my arms out in front of me when I notice someone holding my brother and his new friend by the collars of their shirts.

“Get ‘em!” The stranger yells as he holds the two screaming boys.

He looks a couple of years older than me and quite a bit taller. “Hot” would be how most girls would describe him, but I’m not most girls. The boys are flailing around and his muscles flex under his sleeves as he tries hard to hold onto them.

Unlike Kel and I, it’s unmistakable these two are siblings. Aside from the obvious age difference, they’re identical. They both have smooth olive skin, the same jet black hair, even the same cropped hair style. He’s laughing as Kel breaks free and starts slicing at him with his “sword.” He looks up at me and mouths “help,” when I realize I’m still frozen in my zombie pose.

My first instinct is to crawl back inside the U-Haul and hide on the floorboard for the remainder of my life. Instead, I yell “brains” once more and lunge forward, pretending to bite the younger boy on top of his head. I grab Kel and his new friend and start tickling them until they melt into heaps on the concrete driveway.

As I straighten up, the older brother extends his hand. “Hey, I’m Will. We live across the street,” he says, pointing to the house directly across from ours.

I reciprocate his handshake. “I’m Layken. I guess I live here,” I say as I glance to the house behind me.

He smiles. Our handshake lingers as neither one of us says anything. I hate awkward moments.

“Well, welcome to Ypsilanti,” he says. He pulls his hand from mine and puts it in his jacket pocket. “Where are you guys moving here from?”

“Texas?” I reply. I’m not sure why the tail end of my reply comes out like a question. I’m not sure why I’m even analyzing why it came out like a question. I’m not sure why I’m analyzing the reason why I’m analyzing-I’m flustered. It must be the lack of sleep I’ve gotten over the past three days.

“Texas, huh?” he says. He’s rocking back and forth on his heels. The awkwardness intensifies when I fail to respond. He glances down at his brother and bends over, grabbing him by the ankles. “I’ve got to get this little guy to school,” he says as he swings his brother up and over his shoulders. “There’s a cold front coming through tonight. You should try to get as much unloaded today as you can. It’s supposed to last a few days so if you guys need help unloading this afternoon, let me know. We should be home around four.”

“Sure, thanks,” I say. They head across the street and I’m still watching them when Kel stabs me in my lower back. I drop to my knees and clutch at my stomach, crouching forward as Kel climbs on top of me and finishes me off. I glance across the street again and see Will watching us. He shuts his brother’s door, walks around to the driver’s side door and waves goodbye.

It takes us most of the day to unload all of the boxes and furniture. Our landlord helps move the larger items that mom and I can’t lift on our own. We’re too tired to get to the boxes inside the Jeep and agree to put it off until tomorrow. I’m a little disappointed when the U-Haul is finally empty; I no longer have an excuse to solicit Will’s help.

As soon as my bed is put together, I start grabbing boxes labeled with my name on them from the hallway. I get most of them unpacked and my bed made when I notice the furniture in my bedroom casting shadows across the walls. I look out my window and the sun is setting. Either the days are a lot shorter here, or I’ve lost track of time.

In the kitchen, I find Mom and Kel unloading dishes into the cabinets. I climb into one of the six tall chairs at the bar, which also doubles as the dining room table due to the lack of dining room. There isn’t much to this house. When you walk through the front door, there’s a small entryway followed by the living room. The living room is separated from the kitchen by nothing more than a hallway to the left and a window to the right. The living room’s beige carpet is edged by hard wood that leads throughout the rest of the house.

“Everything is so clean here,” my mother says as she continues putting away dishes. “I haven’t seen a single insect.”

Texas has more insects than blades of grass. If you aren’t swatting flies, you’re killing wasps.

“That’s one good thing about Michigan, I guess,” I reply. I open up a box of pizza in front of me and eye the selection.

“One good thing?” She winks at me as she leans across the bar, grabs a pepperoni and pops it in her mouth. “I’d think that would be at least two good things.”

I pretend I’m not following.