Chapter 2
Pete
What a day.
I sigh as I walk wearily into my apartment, my legs aching, my feet sore, and I literally have egg on my face.
It’s dry now, but it’s itchy, and I can’t wait to get in the shower.
“Leo’s love bunny. Leo’s love bunny.”
My parakeet, Trixie, don’t let the name fool you because it’s actually a male — calls from the corner where his cage stands in my living room.
I shake my head. The last two weeks I’ve been trying to teach Trixie to say Pete.
Leo is my good friend, and was a great hockey player for the Icebreakers, the professional team that is based not far from my hometown of Whisper Hollow. He lives here in the building with me, only his apartment is more expensive, on a higher floor, and with a beautiful view and...more fitting to a professional hockey player. My apartment is fitting to a low-wage, high stress, low cost, cop.
My parents wanted me to get a better job, but this is what I’ve always wanted to do.
Except today... Today was the kind of day that makes me want to quit.
I had some protesters, there aren’t many of them in our small, conservative town, but there are a few, who called me a pig, and threw eggs at me.
I know that you don’t overcome evil with evil, you overcome evil with good, but it’s hard to remember when people are being so nasty, and ignorant. By ignorant, I mean stupid. It’s the kind of ignorant where you don’t really understand the facts, or you wouldn’t act the way you’re acting.
After all, if there were no police, there would be no one to keep law and order, and the further our society goes away from actual morality, where people police themselves, to the government is my God, and I look to them to provide for everything, and there are no morals or absolute truth, the more we need police.
At any rate, I’m not here to preach, I’m just here to do my job. The job that I dreamed of doing since the time I was little. But today...today is one of those days I would hand in my badge without too much thought, if I had anything else I thought I could do instead.
I guess it’s a lack of foresight on my part, or maybe it’s just God saying that he wants me to stay right where I am. Sometimes he puts us through the fire, and that feels like what he’s doing to me.
Leo and his love bunny. Leo and his love bunny!”
“I heard you Trixie. It’s Pete. Can you say Pete?” I hear the irritation in my tone, and I try to modulate it. The bird really is beautiful. And it’s pretty cool that he talks. I just want him to say my name. Not Leo’s. Leo is happily married to the love of his life, Nora. Since he’s retired from hockey, he’s working toward taking over the pastorate of his church in town. He pretty much has his life set up on a silver platter.
Not that anything was handed to him. He has worked hard, but so have I.
I go to the kitchen sink, turn the water on, and finally scrub the egg off my face.
You know how hard someone has to throw an egg in order for it to crack when it hits you? Go ahead and try it. I’ll wait.
It hurts, and I scrub, but gently.
I want to shower, I want food, I want... I want those stupid people to finally educate themselves and stop being so stinking dumb.
I grabbed a tea towel, use an end that looks fairly clean, since I can’t remember the last time I changed them, and go sit down on my recliner.
No sooner do I plop down, then I hear her voice.
“Oh, my precious darling, you are the most handsome man I’ve ever seen.”
I smiled. It’s my neighbor. I’ve never actually seen her, but her voice is sultry and smooth and sounds like a well oiled engine, or maybe a cat that has never scratched anyone. Cats are not my favorite, but anyway, her voice just soothes me more than a hot shower and hot food and gives me the peace that I’ve been longing for and I close my eyes.
“Your lips are so rosy and beautiful and your nose is strong just like your jaw which looks like it was chiseled from granite and I can’t ever get enough of running my hands through your full head of hair.”
I smile a little with my eyes still closed. I know she’s not talking about me. My hair can certainly not be described as a full head, in any sense of the word, but she wouldn’t be likely to say, I love running my hands over your smooth, bald head. Except, I still do have a little bit of hair up there.
My brothers teased me that I need to hurry up and find a girl before I lose it all. But I feel like when I find the right girl, she’s not going to care how much hair I have. Maybe I am overestimating the female species, and for some reason, crazy animal lover Naked Woman popped into my head.
I shove that image out as fast as I can. I don’t want her ruining this time of relaxation. Sure, I know my nameless neighbor is not talking to me, but it’s easy to pretend that she is.
Her voice continues on, and I feel myself relax. I’m not even sure what she’s doing. Whether it’s a book, or movie, or what. But, I’m tempted to respond.
Just to thank her for giving me a little bit of relaxation after a difficult day. Or to let her know how much what she’s doing encourages me.
But, she might be a cop hater too. What do I know? And, she might not appreciate me putting into her life. Plenty of people don’t. I know how belligerent some folks can get when I do it in my official capacity, because they’re breaking the law, or close to it. I can’t imagine how upset they’d be if I did it just as a normal person.
Maybe my job has made me a little bit bitter. It’s definitely made me tired, and I’m about ready to get up, when my phone buzzes.
Normally I would answer right where I am, but if I can hear her that easily through the wall, I’m sure she can hear me, and I don’t want to disturb her. So, I swipe my phone, but don’t say anything until I’m in my bedroom, where I sit down on the edge of my bed.
“Hello?”
“Hello,” a voice that sounds vaguely familiar says, but I don’t place it. “I am calling to ask you for a favor.”
“Okay,” I say, wishing I could figure out who it was. It was just a phone number that came up, one that I don’t really recognize. I can tell it’s a woman’s voice, and an older woman at that. All I know is that it’s not my mother. Thankfully. After the day I’ve had, I’m not sure I could handle her too, although I love her to pieces. Truly. She’s just... A little much sometimes.
“We're having the fall festival at the Baplodist Church, and I was hoping that you would be able to volunteer for the face painting.”
I am silent for just a moment. Volunteer means something different to me than what it does to her, apparently.
“I am not artistic. I can’t even draw strict stick figures.”
“That’s perfect. I’ll put you down. I’ll need you to be there at eight o’clock in the morning, and you’ll have to stay until at least five.”
“I might be doing security for the event,” I say, knowing that parents do not want me to be drawing on their children’s faces. Unless they want their kids to run around looking like someone accidentally threw up on them, which is basically what my stick figures look like, they’d be wise to keep their children away from me. Unless... Unless this woman is secretly trying to sabotage the festival?
“You are not. I’ve already called the station.”
“I’m sorry I missed your name,” I finally say, or should I say I finally find my backbone. Sometimes I have a tendency to be a bit of a pushover when it comes to women. I don’t like to be too forceful. I know that in my job, sometimes I have to be, but I was brought up that a man never hits a woman, and he shows her deference by opening her doors and carrying packages for her and that type of thing. My dad is a great example of that. I’ve always tried to be as much like him as I can.
The lady laughs. “Mrs. Higginbotham. From the Baplodist Church. I see you every Sunday.”
“Right.” That’s why her voice sounds familiar. I hear it, and I don’t even turn and look, I just speed walk in the opposite direction.
“I’m sorry. Now I know who you are. I can’t believe I didn’t recognize your voice.”
“Why don’t you program my name into your phone, and then the next time I call you you’ll know exactly who it is.”
The idea that there’s going to be a next time strikes fear into my heart, and maybe that’s why I don’t get any words out telling her that I can’t possibly paint people’s faces. Particularly children. I’m...not that great with children. I’m a little bit scared of them to be honest. They’re so...sticky, and unpredictable.
“All right. I’ll be a bit with more specifics. You’ll have a partner, and it’s possible that you also might have to take a turn on the dunking booth. I’ve only gotten two volunteers for that currently, and neither one of them are at the age of consent.”
Age of consent? What in the world was she talking about.? I feel like this woman, who should be five steps behind me, has just blown circles around me. That’s a testament to how terrible my day was. It has to be.
“I’ll be back in touch at some point in time.”
She hangs up, and I’m left holding the phone to my ear, feeling like I’ve just been run over by a truck. Like my day wasn’t bad enough.
But I can handle this. There are worse things than having to find someone to take over my face painting gig at the fall Festival. Cal might to do it. He so wrapped up in his anteaters, I’ll have them roped into that before he even knows what hit him.
Except, he might have hockey practice that day. He plays for the Icebreakers, too.
Well that can’t be helped. I’ll just have to find two people to take over. No three, if she’s going to sign me up for the dunking booth too. Did she say she was definitely going to do this? Or did she just say I was going to be the back up if she couldn’t find anyone?
My head is pounding, and what I really need is some more of that soothing voice from across the wall.
Like a starving man, I stumble to my feet, and walk back out to the living room, but even before I sit down in my chair, I know she is no longer there.
That stinks. She is the one voice that can soothe my soul, and make me feel that I can get back up off the ground and back into the fight that people call life.
It’s a month until the festival, and by that point, I should have someone to take my place.
After all, Mrs. Higginbotham picked up her phone and made one phone call, and got the job taken care of. Surely, with a month to work with, I can find three people willing to spot me.
Do I have anyone who likes me that well?
I laugh a little to myself, because my brain was being sarcastic. I have some really good friends, but...no one wants to paint faces at the fall festival, and no one really wants to be in the dunking booth. Could I possibly end up doing all of that myself?
I make a mental note to take drawing lessons. I don’t want to get sued for painting lewd pictures on children’s faces. Especially if it was an accident. Regardless of whether or not it was an accident, that could be a career killer for me.
Tomorrow is Saturday, and I have a rare Saturday off. Maybe, if I actually dated, it would be an exciting thing. As it is, I’m just going to go see my great aunt, the way I do on all my days off. It’s not that I like her so much, but she’s my grandma’s sister, and I loved my grandma. She was one of the best influences in my life, and I would do anything for her. She asked me, just a few days before she died, to take care of her sister, whom not too many people like, and no one gets along with. I would do anything for my grandma, like I said, and so I said yes. So now, I spend all of my time off, or most of it anyway, helping great Aunt Bay, who no one likes and very few people get along with.
Actually, she’s crusty, and salty, and in my current state, I wouldn’t want to be around her, but I actually kind of like her. There’s...a soft underbelly underneath the crusty exterior that is actually rather endearing.
Plus, she has a heart of gold, although she hides it and guards it fiercely.
I’m definitely discouraged, but I’ll take a shower, eat a can of whatever’s in the cupboard, even if it’s just plain black beans, and I’ll read my Bible for a bit. That always brings me out of my funk. The Psalms. Like millions of other people before me, I will go there, because it’s so nice to think of David, who had a few bad days himself, giving me comfort for my own trials in modern-day.
I take a glance at the wall, even though I know I’ll see nothing, and then push out of my chair, hoping I’m around when the voice starts again.
“Leo and his little bunny. Leo and his love bunny.”
I narrow my eyes at the bird.
“If you’re going to live here, if I’m going to feed you, at the very least you could learn to say Pete.”
The bird looks at me, cocks his head a little, and says, “Leo and his love bunny.”