This was a question I could answer with honesty. “You know, man. Just chasing the dream.”
Cap smiled. Then nodded. “When can you start?”
* * *
I arrived home sometime later,adrenaline pumping through my veins. I got the job! I got the fucking job. To hell with my neighbors. I sat down at my buckets and banged out a few songs, ignoring the pounding on the walls and the threats to call the police. Really? Like I hadn’t had ample opportunity to get the boys in blue involved in their questionable lives. When I first moved in here, I was the quietest person in the complex, going about my business while shit was constantly going down around me. Did I complain when Ralph had his psychotic break and smeared his genitalia along every window in the complex? No. Did I call the police when Lori took the Nintendo away from her eight-year-old daughter Serendipity and the girl screamed and screamed like she was being slowly dismembered? No. Did I report the couple “borrowing” other neighbors’ cats so they could make TikToks about saving the “strays” and getting millions of views and packages from their Amazon wishlist? Actually, I did point the cat owners in the right direction on that one.
No one could say I wasn’t a good neighbor… until I took up drumming again. Now I was public enemy number one. But since I was already going to jail, I might as well make it count. I smashed out the last thunderous drum strikes. That oughta make ’em squeal.
Flush with the thrill of accomplishment, I raised my arms in the air and silently cheered my good fortune in getting the job. It was one of those “Do you believe in miracles?” moments. I’d been sinking for so long, I’d almost forgotten what it felt like to stand on solid ground. No—to soar.
Heading to the bathroom, I ran my cracked and bleeding hands under the water. Long training sessions had not been kind to them. Nor had they been kind to my overall appearance. Without even looking in the mirror, I knew my hair needed something drastic. I looked like the stringy-haired bad guy in every drug movie. When I was working and playing the drums, I pulled it back to minimize the off-putting aesthetic, but that made me only slightly more palatable, like a dirty Viking just back from plundering a village.
And the beard. Oh, man. I was embarrassed for myself. It should’ve been gone long ago. I opened the medicine cabinet, looking for razors before remembering I didn’t have any. Yeah, that wouldn’t do. I’d stop by the store after work tomorrow. This was a whole new beginning, and I needed to look the part.
Grabbing for a towel, I caught my reflection in the mirror. Typically, I tried to avoid a direct stare, but I couldn’t resist checking in on the boy in the mirror. Would he be proud of me? Not only had I realized a dream, but I’d also gone to great lengths to vindicate him, testifying for three full days to give him his justice. Yet he showed me no mercy.
“What more do you want from me?” I whispered to my biggest critic. No matter how high I climbed, I could never make him happy. My jubilant mood faded as I left him there to judge.
There was a knock at the door.
“Shit,” I grumbled under my breath, turning my music down as a small concession to the complainer. Steeling myself for a confrontation, I walked to the window next to the door and lowered one slat of the blinds with my finger. The guy on the other side was cloaked in a hoodie and dark sunglasses. Expensive stuff. He was no neighbor of mine. Ice filled my veins. Had I not gotten them all? Had one come to finish me off? It was only when he removed his sunglasses that I realized who the visitor was.
“Surprise,” Quinn said.
Surprise didn’t begin to describe it. What was he doing here? Had Grace told him about my visit? Had he come to defend her honor like the attack dog he’d always been? I let go of the blinds and checked the lock. No way was I opening the door. If Quinn took a swing, I’d be swinging back, and the last thing I wanted to do was to send him back to the hospital.
“You’ve got thirty seconds to open this door,” Quinn said, “before I start blasting an Oingo Boingo song and telling your neighbors you’re the lead singer.”
He wouldn’t. He knew I hated eighties pop. “Go away, Quinn.”
“No can do, bud.”
“I’ve got nothing to say to you.”
“Fair enough. Just open up and listen, then.”
I stood with my forehead against the door, deciding what to do. I was curious. Quinn was big-time now. There was no reason for him to be at my door. Yet he was.
“Fifteen seconds,” Quinn threatened. “Let’s see, should I play ‘Weird Science’ or ‘Just Another Day’?”
Gah, such a dick. I opened the door. He jumped back, seemingly surprised that his intimidation tactics had worked.
“What do you want?” I asked.
My former friend looked me up and down, an amused grin sweeping across his face.
“There’s this thing called a razor, dude.”
How did I know he’d instantly start picking on my hygiene? Sure, I’d already decided it send it all to hair heaven, but no way would I give Quinn the satisfaction. “I like my beard.”
“Ah, high self-esteem. Way to go. Just one question: isn’t your beard annoying in the summer?”
I fought a smile. “No, Quinn, manliness is not seasonal.”
He laughed. “Can I come in?”
“I’d prefer you not.”
