Page 25 of David's Proposal

Go, go, go.

Staggering on my heels, I run around the house, phone clutched in my hand.

I turn the lights off and pull to a harsh stop next to the entrance, panting. The street is dark.

Two more minutes and my ride should arrive.

Terry should be here any moment now.

To avoid a disaster, I lock the door, turn around, and head straight to the back, but I change my mind and return to the kitchen, where I tear a paper towel off the roll and shove itinto my pocket in case my heels pick up some dirt across my neighbor’s lawn.

That’s it.

A nearby car engine noise sends me straight to the back of the house. I don’t have time to check whether it’s my mother or the driver.

There’s still this possibility that the two cars will pull up in front of my house at the same time.

“Fuck,” I mutter, slowly opening and closing the back door. I look for the key under a potted plant, lock the place up, and quietly tip toe around the house.

The car is still there with the lights on.

It’s probably my ride.

I inch closer to the front, my heels sinking into the soft ground, and take a peek when I hear my mother’s voice.

Talking on the phone, she makes a beeline for the main door.

Oh, oh… My phone.

I pull it out and turn off the volume.

Wouldn’t it be weird if she called me and my phone rang next to my place?

I glance down the street. The road is empty while streetlights cast a glow over the trees, front lawns, and quiet houses.

My mother is only a few feet away from me, delivering a bag of groceries while I feel like shit, sneaking out of the house and hiding from her.

Frustrated, I look for a footpath to the street that allows me to walk away without being seen.

The bag of groceries meets the wooden threshold, and that’s my chance.

I veer to the left and sprint across my neighbor’s lawn.

Hopefully, they don’t have motion sensor lights.

What a spectacle that would be. My bare legs shimmering from the lotion I have slathered on, my heels having cuffs ofmud around them, not to mention the marks on my neighbor’s otherwise beautifully manicured lawn, my hair carmine red, waving like a flag.

The only thing missing is a cop car and me wearing shackles for trespassing.

But none of that happens.

They don’t even have a dog.

Panting like crazy, I hide behind a tree to catch my breath and clean my heels before disposing of the paper towel in the neighbor’s trash bin.

My mother lingers for some reason, and I’m still too close to her. If my ride arrives, she’ll catch sight of me, and what an embarrassing scene that would be.

I walk quickly to the next tree and the next, with each step moving away from my place.

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