Page 3 of Missed Exit

My curiosity gets the best of me, so I walk over to take a closer look at their things.

Even through multiple layers of bubble wrap, I can tell that’s got to be an 85-inch screen. Did he not take any measurements of this place? That TV is going to cover an entire wall in his living room. He’ll have to watch it from the kitchen.

The couch is awfully small. Doesn’t go with the TV. Weird. You’d think a guy who cared so much about the size of his TV would at least have a nice, leather recliner.

I’m glad to see his headboard is solid wood. He even has a footboard. This is a sturdy looking bed. Hopefully, that means I won’t have to hear it banging against our shared wall.

The last guy who lived here was okay as far as neighbors go, but the thumping rhythm of his revolving-door love life was a constant reminder that mine paled in comparison.

Not that I’m making much of an effort in that area these days, but I don’t need a nightly confirmation.

In his defense, he did move his bed away from the wall after I offered to come over and add a few screws to shore up his headboard. He got a good laugh out of the offer. And an ego boost, I’m sure. At least I could get a full night’s sleep for the last few months he was here.

I hope this new neighbor doesn’t make me miss that guy.

I’ve seen enough. He’ll either show up or he won’t.

I push my front door open, but before I can step inside, tires roll to a stop at the curb. When I turn to see who’s pulled up, I don’t recognize the car. This has got to be my new neighbor.

I’ve already stood here staring, so it would be rude not to wait a bit longer and introduce myself.

A passenger emerges from the backseat, and soon as she stands up, our eyes lock.

Oh, come on! What are the fucking odds? This whole life must be my penance for all the bad shit I did in a past life.

Her head swivels repeatedly, looking at all her belongings exposed for the whole world to inspect, but it comes to a full stop when she recognizes my truck. The shock in her expression is almost comical.

“Where’s your little red race car?” I call out.

“It died.” She paces alongside the driveway as her ride pulls away. “They just unloaded all my stuff and left it here?”

“They waited about thirty minutes before they gave up on you. Did you get lost?”

“No. I did not get lost. You made me miss my exit! And then my car died, so I had to wait on a tow truck, and then I had to wait on a ride. Do you know how long it takes to get an Uber out here?”

“No idea. I also have no idea how you figure I made you miss your exit.” I walk to the edge of my porch because I don’t think I’m going inside anytime soon. “I took that exit easily enough. What kept you from taking it?”

“You!”

“Yeah, repeating that isn’t going to make it true. I had nothing to do with you missing the exit.”

“Yes, you did! You, road-raging psychopath!”

“Road rage? What road rage?”

“You tried to intimidate me for miles, and then you came speeding back up on my bumper out of nowhere, practically pushing me out of my lane.”

“Do you have a head injury or some other condition that affects your memory? Because I’m about to say some things to you that I would genuinely feel bad for saying to someone with an actual disability.”

“Say whatever you want. I don’t care what you think about me, anyway!”

“Look, I’m going to go out on a limb here and assume we’ve both had a bad day. Let’s start over.” I run my fingers through my hair, and hope I don’t regret not walking into my own place and closing the door on her. “Howdy, neighbor. Want some help carrying all your shit inside?”

“Seems like the least you could do at this point.”

I inhale for ten. Exhale the entire breath on one. “Listen, I did not make you miss the exit. I also did not make your movers leave. I am offering to help you because I’m a nice guy, not because I owe it to you. I don’t owe you anything.”

“Fine!”

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