I have forty acres of land so I still get to spend plenty of time outside, which I love. I just do it alone. When you're a 6'9" freak, there's no way you're not going to draw attention to yourself wherever you go, literally no way of making yourself small and blending in. Been that way since the summer I turned thirteen, when I shot up like a bean sprout practically overnight.
My monstrous stature sure came in handy some thirty years ago. I owe my entire career as a Hollywood stunt double for the likes of Arnie, Sylvester, and Jean-Claude to my build. Once I made enough money to set my parents and myself up for life, the first thing I did was get out of Hollywood and move to a few miles outside a small town with a funny name, Cumcircle.
Townsfolk around here are generally cool, but I still avoid coming into town since there's bound to be someone new who hasn't seen me before, and scaring little children? Not high on my list of fun things to do.
If my elderly neighbor, Sutton, didn't need to get her prescription in person, I wouldn’t come into town at all. But she's getting on and frail, and it's only four times a year, so I can put on my big boy 42-inch pants and suck it up.
I hop into my pickup and take off. Thinking of Sutton makes my thoughts drift to the other neighbor I had, Esme. She passed away about six months ago. Sweetest lady I've ever met. Told the dirtiest jokes. Out-of-this-world baker, too. I can still taste her mango cardamom cupcakes.
Main Street slips away, and the road thins out, lined with nothing but trees and open fields. It's only a ten-minute drive to my property, and I spend it thinking about Esme. Her house remains empty, untouched. I wonder why no one from her family has come by, even just to look around.
I’m almost home when I spot a vehicle stopped in the middle of the street. I slow as I pass it, peering inside. Looks empty. There's a barcode sticker on the windshield.Rental.
Up ahead, I see two figures turning into Esme's driveway. They're walking too slowly and casually to be burglars. They're also each carrying a suitcase. Between that and the broken-down car, my brain kicks into gear, and I guess they must be related to her, or at least know her, in some way.
I drop off Sutton's medication and ask if she has any idea about who the car might belong to.
"Esme's only son and daughter-in-law were killed in a car accident. But she has a grandson. Zak. It's probably him."
"Got it. Now, do you need anything else? I'll start on that firewood for you in the next few weeks. Get you all nice and ready for winter."
"I'm fine for now, but thank you for asking." Sutton smiles. "How is a wonderful guy like you still single? It's a mystery if you ask me."
Heat creeps up my neck.
Because I'm a monstrosityis the correct and only response to that question. Someone who belongs in a circus or science lab. There's a reason why I'm fifty-three and have never been in a relationship. No one wants…this.
"Oh, you know…" I sweep my hair into a ponytail to busy myself. "Anyway, if there's nothing else?"
"There isn't. Thank you for getting my medicine."
"No problem. Take care, Sutton."
I glance at Esme's house as I make my way to my place, the last house on the street. The front door is closed, and there's no sign of anyone…other than the broken-down car at the end of the road.
I start wondering about what her grandson is like and who he came here with, then I mentally kick myself for not minding my own damn business. Being the recluse that I am, there's a good chance I won't even run into them while they're here.
For however long that may be.
The next day, movement catches in the corner of my eye from atop my riding mower as I cut the front lawn. The great thing about having forty near-flat acres is having space and privacy. The downside? Constant mowing.
Although, to be fair, I do enjoy it. I can't settle my mind enough to meditate, but doing laps on this thing is the next best thing. It's relaxing, and once I settle into it, my brain switchesoff, and all I notice is the warmth of the sun on my skin and the smell of freshly cut grass in the summer air.
I angle the mower to face the road where two people—Esme's grandson, Zak, and his companion—are trying to push the car toward Esme's property.
It's not going well.
I may not have brains, but brute strength? Oh, yeah. I'm all over it. I ride down to my front fenceline then hop off and make my way over to them.
"What on earth made you think you knew how to jump-start a car?"
"Less talking, more pushing."
"And why am I the one pushing?"
"Less talking encompasses less complaining, in case that wasn't clear."
I chuckle. They're bickering like people who have known each other for a long time. I'd say they're either brothers or good friends. The one pushing the car looks a bit surferish. Something about him makes me thinkplumber.
