Page 8 of On the Mountain

Wow, that was really fucking cool of her, especially when my response probably could have used some work. Telling someone I sucked at friendship was an asshole move and likely sounded like an excuse. I nodded, then looked away while she finished making my drink. When she handed it over, we swapped numbers, and then I quickly slipped out of Tranquil Brew, my skin too tight and feeling like I’d let her down, and somehow, like I’d let my mom down too. She would have wanted me to try to be friends with Melody. She would have wanted me to have as many friends as possible.

Instead, I was walking down the sidewalk to sit on a bench across the street from my work, to drink my iced coffee and wait for a man who may never come, and one I had no business being so interested in. But hey, I’d given her my number, so that was something, right?

I shifted uncomfortably after the first half hour. People walked by, waving and saying hi the way they often did in places like this. I always felt like it gave a false sense of security, like they really cared, when most of them would judge someone like me for how I lived my life and turn their backs on me if they knew the truth. They would talk about me the same way they talked about Crow, a blemish on the pristine image they tried to create here.

I sat there for hours, knowing it was ridiculous, knowing this wasn’t normal, but still not having it in myself to leave. Eventually, I walked up and down Main Street, needing to move, not wanting to be the creepy guy who sat outside the post office and watched the hardware store all day. If Crow came back, I would see him.

By late afternoon, it was clear he likely wouldn’t show. I hadn’t eaten anything all day, had gone into my work to use the bathroom twice while making up some silly excuse. I looked down as I walked, eyes watching my feet move along the sidewalk toward my quiet apartment. It was only four, but I stripped and climbed into bed, ready to go to sleep for the night. It wasn’t as if I had anything else to do.

*

Three days later I forced myself to go to the grocery store. I didn’t get much, but my fridge had been pretty empty, so I’d needed to get at least a little bit of food into the house. I’d been living off one meal a day, just not caring enough to do anything about it.

I turned down one of the aisles and froze in my tracks. He was there—Crow—standing in front of the cereal. As ridiculous as it sounded, my first thought was, he eats cereal? As if he wasn’t human or something. He put a few boxes of granola into his cart—so apparently not what I considered good cereal—then continued on. My pulse stumbled, nerves and curiosity colliding inside me, the winner being my interest in him, so I followed. The bread aisle was next. I looked at the shelves and dropped hamburger buns in my cart, though I had no plan to eat them.

“Jesus, the fucking weirdo is here,” I heard someone say behind me. I turned around to see three men in their early twenties.

“Fucking freak,” another said, making the hairs on my nape stand on end. The words were bad enough, but there was something about the way he said it that made my gut twist.

They walked past me like they didn’t notice me, like I didn’t matter, which honestly, wasn’t something new for me. I walked along behind them, letting my instincts lead me.

“Hey, psycho. When the fuck are you going to get out of here and go find somewhere you belong?” the biggest of the three said, and while he was thick and had beefy arms, he didn’t look as in shape or like he had the raw strength Crow appeared to possess.

Crow looked to the side just slightly, hair in his face, peeking at the guy with narrow, cold eyes that made shivers run down my spine. I paused, almost afraid to step forward, afraid to get any closer to him. He was a loose cannon; I could see that in the wild stare.

“You stupid or something?” The guy pushed Crow, hand on his left pec.

Everything moved too fast from there. I didn’t see him do it, but a second later, Crow had the guy’s hand in his, squeezing it. The man cried out in pain, bent forward like he was trying to find a less uncomfortable position.

“Let go,” he ordered.

Crow’s only response was a tic in his jaw and the muscles in his arm tightening.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? You’re going to break his hand!” one of the other men shouted, but it was like Crow was in his own world, like everything human inside him had been cut off, like he couldn’t hear or see or even know what he was doing. And while I knew I should be scared, I wasn’t. There was nothing I could do to pull my attention away.

The guy fell to his knees, and as much as he deserved having his hand broken, I knew Crow wouldn’t come out of this well…and even though I didn’t know him, I didn’t want him to get into trouble.

“Crow.” His name fell out of my mouth without me planning on saying it. Unlike when the other men spoke to him, his head snapped up, gaze locking on mine. His eyes softened momentarily, before they immediately hardened again, his anger at them shooting in my direction.

But the distraction was just what the men needed. One of them swung at him. His fist connected with Crow’s face, making him let go of the first guy’s hand. Before he could do much to defend himself, the biggest of the three tried to tackle him. His arm went around Crow’s waist, body slamming into him. They stumbled into the shelves, food packages falling to the floor.

The commotion was enough to send people running their direction. Two male store workers and another guy went straight for Crow, pulling him off the other guy. He was fighting like crazy to get away from them, snarling and growling. One of the thugs went to hit him again, but I threw myself between them.

“No. Stop.”

“Get the fuck out of the way.”

“Fuck you,” I replied. No way was I going to let them hit Crow again. There were how many of them there?

“Listen,” the first guy said, cradling his arm, “you don’t know what the fuck you’re doing. This piece of shit is—” He stopped when two police officers came running.

“What’s going on here?” one of them asked—Officer Paulson, per his badge.

“This motherfucker tried to break my hand!” The guy held up his swollen limb.

The men who held Crow let him go. I was surprised he didn’t speak then, but he didn’t try to walk away either.

“They started it,” I said. “They approached him, angry that he’s here. Crow was only shopping. He pushed Crow, who grabbed him in self-defense.”

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