I must admit, I didn’t know what to do. I mean, I know that bike was my only means of transportation and all, but come on! What if this guy was some kind of psycho or something? What if he was armed or loaded or whatever you wanna call it? There was only one thing I was sure about, he hadn’t noticed me yet. Man did I mess this up… I looked down and noticed my drench high-tops, the new ones I’d just gotten last week… (Yeah, so don’t blame me; I’m sure you would’ve done this too!) I lifted one of feet and through my teeth, I muttered, “Oh that’s just perfect!” (Okay… Maybe I’m the only one that would’ve done that. My brilliance is often mistaken as stupidity as some people like to term it.) However dumb I was, I was smart enough to know that that got his attention pretty quickly.
I could see the headlines now; Teenage girl kidnapped my lunatic pedestrian. My parents’d be playing the sob story to the reporters and they’d have the picture of me doing a pose shot with an awkward peace sign showing off my black fingernail polish, and the many black tube bracelets on my wrists, the ones that I never take off, as the picture that shows what I look like since that’s my most recent photo (Amazing what you can do with an old camera you found in the top compartment of your mom’s med-cabinet.)
(Off subject. My bad.) Anyway, we were basically having a glaring contest. He was winning. The reason I was losing so badly was because I couldn’t look up into his eyes. One: Because I was so scared he was going to shoot or stab me or something, and two: Because I was petrified by how tall he was… Rather that or I’m just short. I couldn’t help but take a step back, at least to get my converse out of the water. I bet my face was much paler than it usually is, because believe me, I was scared. I’m never that good with human contact anyway. If this stare down was some test, I’d get a Z-.
What that boy did next was very peculiar, and I didn’t understand why. He pulled out his camera, that silver one he had been arguing with the security guards about. He raised it up to his eye and he took a picture of me… That flash was blinding, and my sight was bad to begin with. I rubbed my eyes to help the black dots in the middle of my vision go away, and then I looked back up at him. The fear was gone, now I was just plain confused.
I guess he was reviewing the picture when my vision became clear again; this was my chance to rather run, or try to undo my bike and run like hell. I think the second one is too far-fetched. I started taking some steps away so that he wouldn’t notice my attempt to flee, I was almost clear to run for my life. My heart was pounding as I was counting down in my head from thirty… But I had only counted to seventeen before I turned on my heel and ran as fast as I could out of Town Square. At that moment, I thought that I should try out for track at school, because believe me; my feet were beating the pavement like a boat motor. I’m lucky I didn’t trip and land on my face, because I always thought converse weren’t the best running shoes. I reached the bus stop and finally turned to look; I didn’t see any clue that he was following me or anything, so I guess I was safe. “Maybe I over reacted.” Or maybe I just saved myself from a cruel and painful death. “Either way, I’ve lost my bike.” Just perfect…
Walking home was nothing to be proud about. My feet were already drenching wet, so I could see those dark wet foot prints following me. And not to mention the water squeaking from between my toes. It was driving me nuts, like a drill in my head. Right when I got home (Okay… My apartment.) I put my converse and socks to dry by the doorway. I walked inside with soaking feet, looking around I didn’t see or hear anything indicating my parents being home. I guess they’re still at work. “It’s just one of those days isn’t it…?”
I hadn’t eaten since way back at lunch in school, so you could tell I was hungry. Walking off to our kitchen with the newly installed tiling, back-splash, and black marble countertops, I headed to the fridge and started scrounging. Mom hasn’t been to the grocery store, I feared. Because all I could find was a bag of apples, one of them had a bite in it (… Don’t look at me…); a pack of lunchmeat; some leftovers from olive garden; and a big block of cheddar cheese… (There were some other things in there, but I’m sure whether to indicate something alive as food… EW.) I grabbed the leftovers, spooned them onto a plate and put it into the microwave. Believe me; half-eaten-spaghetti is so much more appetizing than a sandwich with cheese as the bread. Blech, milk is bad enough.
I pulled out the heated leftovers and then grabbed the phone as I dialed my mom’s work phone. She didn’t answer. I swear, sometimes I think she uses name ID as an opportunity to ignore me, rather that or she’s talking to someone else, which is highly likely.
I didn’t even try to call my dad, he never answers anyway. I grabbed a fork and started picking at the spaghetti. I walked to the living room and sat down on the leather couches, grabbing the remote, I turned on the TV. My mom is always the one watching the dramas and soap operas… I can’t believe I stooped to her level. You should’ve seen me, I was a late night TV-junkie watching soap operas with a big plate of spaghetti in her lap… I’m so embarrassed. It was 11:30 already, and my parents weren’t home yet. I decided not to ask; sometimes they aren’t home until two ‘o clock with their office duties. (I’ve honestly never really wondered why they stay out so late, I just remember that as long as their out, it’s me-time. Though of course, they’ve given me the countdown on the rules: No boys, no setting the kitchen on fire, no using scissors to open cans (long story…), no boys… And oh yes, no boys. They’re so original.)
I grabbed the phone again and dialed for my momma, this time she actually answered, I was surprised that there wasn’t any noise in the background. I guess she wanted to talk to me, because she started talking at miles and miles a minute. “Hey Sweetie, is something wrong? Are you okay? Is the apartment still in one piece? Is your dad home yet?”
“Uh… Everything’s fine mom. I just wanted to see when you were coming home.” I swear, sometimes she talks so fast it makes my head spin, that’s why I usually prefer not talking to her on the phone. It may be all that coffee she drinks while she’s at the office because most days, she comes home wired. Mom started babbling again, “Well Hon, I’m still at work. Things are insane here lately. Hopefully I’ll be home soon.”
“No pressure Momma.”
“Okay Hon, love you, bye-bye!” And she hung up right there.
I looked at the phone to see if she had really hung up, I shrugged, putting the phone back down on the charger; I plopped down on the couch again with my now cleaned plate on my lap. I started to once again go through some channel surfing, and I ended up with a wipeout. “There’s nothing good on…” I mournfully admitted. I needed something to keep my attention, or I’d black out into slumber before the night was out. Staying up late is a priority on weekends for every teenager, I couldn’t screw this up. So I walked off to my room where I started picking things up and putting them away (Cleaning my room. I’m dying of shock.) It wasn’t anything nasty like leftover food from decades ago or anything, it was mostly just paper with doodles that I’d balled and thrown just to be missed by the trash can (Scratch basketball off of my priority list); some notebooks that had fallen off of my bed or desk; and a few dozen pairs of jeans I was too lazy to put away into my drawers. When I was done, I could actually see my floor again, which is a rare sight. I started digging through my sleep pants and pulled out my favorite pair of black plaid sleep pants and an old oversized Harley Davidson t-shirt my dad had gotten me when I was twelve. I put on the sleep pants and then walked out to the living room where I was multitasking by putting on the shirt and checking the channels one more time.
I’m surprised to find that ever since I’d gotten home, I hadn’t thought about the b*****d of a bike jacker. I mean, I’m pretty forgetful a lot of the time, but this really beats the bunch. That’s the most exciting thing that had happened all day, how could I forget it so early?
In my marathon of questions I was surprised to remember that I realized something; I didn’t want to leave my converse out all night because my neighbor’s dog, Emerson, has a bit of a shoe ######… As in obliterating them with fatal jaw strike (Evil little bobble-head Chihuahua…). I grabbed my apartment key and opened the door, walking out, I couldn’t see my stupid shoes in the dark, so being the genius I am, I walked back in and switched on the outdoor light. I looked around for my shoes, and right as I finally found them (right next to the door…) I was overtaken by this really tall shadow… Now I know what you’re thinking. I should be screaming and running inside like a mad woman, locking the doors, turning off the lights, and calling the police because we all know who it was.
But no! I’m such a genius that I looked up, right at the face of that stupid son of a b***h who’d stolen my bike. He didn’t react, he didn’t smile like a lunatic or a kidnapper, he just jutted the handle bar at my stomach, and these words escaped his lips, “You forgot your bike.”
… Can someone explain this to me!?
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Where Me, Myself and I will be held... Revision will commense soon enough.
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