Great. I just bought a house next to a looney, and I can’t keep calling the cops if she continues her craziness. Eventually, they’ll be curious about me and run a check. This crazy rooster is the last thing I need when all I’m looking for is peace and quiet.
The bird keeps yelling from the top of his lungs without stopping. I check the time—it’s four forty. Why is it yelling before the sun is even up?
Giving up on the idea of sleep in this condition, I take a shower and head downstairs. Running on nearly three hours of sleep is not ideal, but not a novelty to me. Chugging coffee will help, so I make myself an extra strong pot of dark roast, pour it into a big mug I unpacked yesterday, and go through the front door. The porch swing still might have life left in it, and that’s all I need this morning to barrel through.
Pushing the door open and yawning, I don’t expect to see anyone onmyfront porch at five in the morning. So I let out “Fucking hell” while stepping back with a cup of scorching hot coffee. Some of it spills on my front, burning the skin.
“Fuck me!” I grab the shirt and pull it away from my body.
“I would. If you asked me twenty years ago,” comes a scratchy giggle.
Shifting my attention from my singed skin to the unexpected visitor, I’m met with crystal blue, watery eyes. A woman with long, completely white hair falling over her shoulders, wearing a white nightgown and a fuzzy blanketwrapped around her shoulders, is sitting on my porch swing. She looks almost eternal and so peaceful.
“Excuse me, ma’am.” I remember all the lessons my mother taught me. “I didn’t expect you to be here.”
“Clearly,” she giggles. “Why?”
“What why?”
“Why didn’t you expect me to be here?”
I open my mouth and then close it, not able to find an answer that won’t offend her. Because that one is pretty obvious if you ask me.
“What are you doing here, ma’am?”
She sighs, fixing her skirt around her knees. “Well, that depends on whom you ask, I guess.” Her voice turns dreamy. “Ask a bird, she’s here to fly. Ask a cat, she’s here to cause mischief. Ask?—”
“I’m asking you.” My temples start pounding, and I put some pressure on the painful point with my thumb. “Why are you here, on my porch, in the morning?” I decide to clarify because I have no idea if she has dementia or if she’s just fucking with me.
“Oh, that.” Her eyes dull—it was clearly the wrong question to ask. She probably was looking for some deep conversation, but it’s too early and I’m too fucked up for that. “I’m here almost every morning.”
“Charming.” I glance at the sky, silently asking why this is happening to me. First my backyard is occupied by a witch, now the front is taken by this fluffy ghost-squatter.
“I think so too. Now,” she moves to the side and pats the space next to her. “Come sit here.”
Eyeing the half-rotten swing, I remain by the door.
“Oh, c’mon, don’t be a pussy,” she says with a raspy chuckle. “It won’t fall. And if it does, I’ll fall on top of you. Fun times, yes?”
Still stunned from this sweet old lady saying the word ‘pussy,’ I move toward the swing automatically.
“C’mon, big fella.” She keeps patting the seat. “I’m not getting any younger.”
I go to carefully plant my ass on the other side of the swing, and it lets out a loud squeak, making me nearly jump. When I’m finally down, not able to breathe for fear of breaking the whole construction because it would cause the old lady’s fall, I carefully lean back.
“What’s your name?” I ask because she’s clearly not going anywhere.
Her brows draw together in concentration as her eyes turn sadder. “I—” She swallows. “I think… Something with the moon.”
Shit, so she does have dementia.
“I’ll call you Moon then. It’s a very beautiful name.”
“All right.” Her face brightens. “Moon. And you are?”
“Jericho, ma’am,” I reply with a short nod.
“Jericho.” She tries out the word. “A very interesting name.” Then she smacks her open palms on her thighs with extra force I didn’t expect from such a fragile creature. I get so scared that I nearly grab her arms to check for damage. “So, Steve, how did you end up in this house?”
