1
Medley Bell
Sweetgreen, Georgia
Igrab the box addressed to the house I just parked in front of and jump out of my truck. The sun glares down at me the same way my boss does when I’m incapable of movin’ at inhuman speeds and deliverin’ ten packages at one time. I pull the ugly ass purple polo that’s part of my uniform away from my already sweat-sticky skin and walk up to the front door.
I go to push the doorbell but notice a sign that says, “Please do not ring, it disturbs baby.” I pause for a moment, debatin’ if I should knock or not. The last thing I want to deal with is a pissed off mama who’s had too little sleep to realize she’s inappropriately losin’ it on someone who is just tryin’ to deliver a package.
I look down at my power pad and sigh. Of course this little box requires a signature. I knock gently on the door, both cringin’ and holdin’ my breath, hopin’ I don’t immediately hear a wailin’ baby go off inside like ayour day’s about to get a hell of a lot worsealarm.
Luckily, no tiny child cries come out of the open windows beside the door, so when I hear footsteps approachin’, I relax a little. Only one more package to deliver after this one, and then I’m done with this shift and the stretch of torture that preceded it.
I’ve been pullin’ doubles for ten days straight, mostly because my prick of a boss insinuated that if I didn’t, she’d make my life a livin’ hell. I’m tryin’ to save up enough to move out on my own, and Sweetgreen, Georgia, ain’t exactly teemin’ with great job opportunities, so I plastered on a smile when she practically gave me no choice, and I’ve been runnin’ myself ragged ever since.
But I’m about to have three glorious days off in a row. I have big plans for eatin’, sleepin’, and maybe a little bar hoppin’ over in Colletville with my friends. I’m ready to dip my toe in the pool of hotties I hope exists in the city that’s about an hour away from here. It’s time to let loose and make some bad decisions in the form of drinks that taste like Kool-Aid, and dicks that know how to do a Southern woman right.
The dirt-streaked door in front of me opens slightly, and a lined face peeks out at me through the crack. “Yes?” a frail elderly voice asks.
“Good afternoon, ma’am. I have a package for Ms. Jonay.”
“That’s me, dear.”
“Perfect, I’ll just need your signature here, ma’am,” I tell her as I hold the power pad out to her and point at the line that needs her John Hancock with the stylus.
The dirty tan door opens wider as Ms. Jonay reaches for the electronic pad, and that’s when I notice the biggest damn dog I’ve ever seen in my life. Okay, maybe it’s not thetallest. I saw a wolfhound once when I was little, and that thing was tall as hell, but this dog is so ripped it has to be some mix of Rottweiler and Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson. I swear to hell, if this thing pulls The Rock’s signature look and raises an eyebrow at me, I wouldn’t be even the tiniest bit surprised.
The door swings open more as Ms. Jonay takes the power pad in hand while simultaneously blockin’ her leg in front of the dog, but I can tell by the look on its face that a cryin’ baby at this house is gonna be the least of my problems. This massive four-legged beast is about to charge to the front of the line ofFMLproblems I’m currently dealin’ with.
I don’t know what it is about the juiced-up dog that sets off alarm bells, but I know I have fractions of a second to get out of bone-crushin’ range of those jaws, or else I’m gonna be on the five o’clock news.
With a growl, the dog shoves past Ms. Jonay, and I chuck the package at the dog’s face just as he lunges for me. Ms. Jonay shouts out a “hey” in objection to the move, but I’m too busy spinnin’ and leapin’ off the porch to pay it any mind.
Time slows down as though I’m in some action flick and the audience needs to see everythin’ that’s about to happen, frame by frame. I spot my work truck at the end of what now seems like an endless stretch of yard, and I just know I’m not gonna make it to the safety of that bad boy in time.
To my right is one of those long metal dumpster trailer things that people park on the side of a house when they’re doin’ construction and have a big ol’ pile of shit to throw away. I automatically aim for that instead. If I can haul myself up and over the rim, my limbs might stay intact and there will be no conveniently recorded evidence from some neighbor’s doorbell cam of me screamin’ bloody murder as I get mauled by Dwayne “The Dog” Johnson.
I sprint like I’m goin’ for gold and internally scream at my legs that if they like bein’ attached to my body, they better pick up the damn pace. I clear the yard faster than I thought I could, and I leap for the top edge of the dumpster just as the beast leaps for me.
There’s no snarlin’ or warnin’ growls. The thing just comes for me like a bullet.Silent but deadlywill never mean the same thing to me for as long as I live. I can feel hot, evil dog breath on the skin of my legs as I pull myself up, my arms strainin’ as I hold on for dear life and hike up my knees to my chest, hopin’ I don’t get a chunk taken out of me.
Shit, why did I wear the uniform shorts today? Oh, right, because it’s hotter than hell’s sauna out here.
Miraculously, teeth don’t sink into my calf, but they do catch on the heel of my sneaker, and my shoe is yanked off painfully hard, wrenchin’ me back.
Oh hell no. Medley Bell’s not goin’ down like this!
I hold onto the top lip of the dumpster for all that I’m worth and just get my legs up and over as the beast spits my shoe from its mouth and tries to leap for me again. He can jumpwaydamn higher than I thought. My plan quickly goes from hangin’ on the side of the dumpster to droppin’ my ass right into it in order to avoid this fucker snappin’ on my limb like it’s low hangin’ fruit.
The pile inside of the dumpster is pretty high, so I land in it with an oomph that steals the breath out of my lungs as my ass comes down hard on the pile of construction trash. Lookin’ around, it seems that whoever rented this thing is doin’ a bathroom remodel, because there’s a nasty ass brown-ringed toilet in here, pieces of moldy sheetrock, and a whole pile ofwho the fuck knowsunder all that.
Shit.I’ll have to ask my mama if I’m up on my tetanus shot and if bathin’ in bleach is bad for the skin.
“Baby won’t hurt you!” Ms. Jonay shouts at me as she hobbles her old ass my way.
This is the damn baby?
“Are you bat shit crazy?” I shout up, inwardly cringin’ as I get to my feet, my now shoeless foot steppin’ on somethin’ tepid and soggy.
