The What

“Henry, how many times am I going to have to ask—”

“Mom, I know, okay? I got it. Coming down right now—GAH!” Stupid stats book weighs a hundred pounds, and I had to drop it on my foot. Amazing.

Today was off to a pretty shit start. I knew I had to finish my stats homework that was due first period, or I would be screwed. So, Mom could wait until the fifth ask for me to come downstairs and take out the trash.

I headed downstairs. As I walked past the broken banister that Stephen hit with a baseball bat in his follow-through of the best home run swing a seven-year-old has ever seen, I smelled Mom’s hashbrowns beginning to burn in the kitchen.

“Hey,” I usually said this when I knew I was in trouble.

“Hi Henry, can you please—”

“Mom, I’m sorry! I had to finish my stats, and before you tell me I should’ve done it last night, I know, I’m sorry. Love you, bye!” Grabbing the trash in one hand and my backpack in the other, I ran out the door. I shoved the bag into the trash can before I could even catch sight of the maggots. They’re especially disgusting this time of year when summer’s heat turns the corner, like they’re on their last leg of life before a 34 degree day sends them into their eternal hibernation. 

“Hello Mr. Walker,” scared out of my mind I turned around to find my overbearing neighbor Mr. Newman standing right behind me like a creep. I wonder if he knows how weird he’s being.

“Hi Mr. Newman, is there something, uh, what–”

“I just wanted to make sure you got one of our fliers for the Glenview Block association. We got to everyone over on Maple besides your house, so I wanted to deliver it myself to make sure it got to you, you know how the ladies are with these kinds of things, they get so sidetracked once  they hit Mrs. Kelly’s front porch, tea, biscuits, you know.”

Honestly I have no idea what he’s talking about, but I’ll play along or I’ll really be late to school, “Thanks Mr. Newman, I’ll be sure to give this to my mom for you,” stepping back slowly to the car, I tried to be as discrete as possible.

“We’d love to have you at our next meeting too Henry, we need more young voices around here to help build the future of our neighborhood!”

“Sure Mr. Newman, have a nice day! Thanks again!” I shut the car door, finally escaping whatever situation that was. Pulling out of the driveway, Britney Spears blared through my speakers, my mom loves to leave her ancient CDs in the broken CD player that never seems to eject the disc, but plays the music perfectly in tune. 

“Hey! Watch where you’re going, jerk!” I slammed on the breaks as a sandy-blonde smokeshow carrying a cardboard box came into view. I guess I wasn’t paying attention, but now I sure was.

“Ma’am– I’m really uh sorry I didn’t see you–”

“Right, you didn’t see me with the huge moving truck and this big box in my hands.” I looked over at the truck, where a woman who could be her twin but twenty years older was unloading some more boxes from the back. “You know what? Never mind. Just don’t run me over next time, bud. Got it?”

She turned to walk over to the curb in her blue jeans and gray sweater. “Exactly what I needed—a new neighborhood full of freaks,” she said under her breath, thinking I couldn’t hear her. Or maybe she did, and that was the point. I don’t know; all I know is I blew it with the hot new girl next door.