by Margaret Iuni
This is part of an on-going series. To read the last part of this story, click here.
Our meeting didn’t last very long. An hour into our strained small talk, Minnie suggested we watch a movie. Mere seconds after these words left her mouth, her phone began to ring.
“Hello?” Minnie stood as she answered the phone and walked over to the window. “But we were going to watch a movie.” She rolled her eyes and sighed. “Okay, okay. Love you, too. Bye.” She hung up her phone and flung herself back onto my bed. “Mom’s on her way. She says the storm’s getting really bad and she wants me home. I don’t understand her. I’m inside, what’s the difference if it’s here or at the house.”
“She probably just doesn’t want you walking home,” Sears suggested, pulling at the frayed hem of his tee shirt. His mouth was turned down at the corners and his eyes were unfocused. Minnie’s mother always made me miss mom even more when she was away because Mrs. Tang and my mother shared a lot of the same tendencies, overprotectiveness included.
“I guess. Whatever. Rain check on the movie, then,” Minnie sighed again as she sat up and gathered her things.
“I’ll walk you out,” I twisted my body until my feet were on the floor and straightened up. Sears and Minnie exchanged their goodbyes as I checked my phone. I closed the door behind us as we left, and it occurred to me how strange it was that Sears was now alone in my room.
After Minnie left, Sears shifted uncomfortably around me for another several minutes, then, with little justification, excused himself. I spent the rest of the day watching reruns of my mom’s favorite television show. I thought about calling her, but I knew she wasn’t exactly available. It had only been a few days since I’d heard from her, which was normal when she was working. I had some junk food for dinner, a practice that would have driven my mother crazy, but Target was definitely not my top choice for dinner companion that night, so I ate alone. I fell asleep around one a.m., bag of chips in hand and laptop propped open next to my head.
Around four a.m., a loud crack of thunder and bright flash of lighting woke me from a terrible dream of Uncle Costco’s mangled body. I spent the next few minutes trying to fall back to sleep, but my eyes couldn’t stay closed. I just kept seeing his twisted, torn off arm on the sidewalk. I walked over to the window seat in my room and sat there for several minutes, watching the rain and getting lost in thought. I was angry at the way Target had treated Minnie. I was aggravated that I didn’t know what was in the package. I was slightly nauseated by my horrible dream. Mostly, I was upset because I couldn’t talk to the one person who got it. Mom had been gone for a few weeks already, and her work schedule had been getting increasingly busy.
I shuddered at the same time I heard soft footsteps going down the stairs. I looked at the alarm clock in my room and saw it was nearly five in the morning. I considered for a few minutes whether or not I should investigate. Eventually, I rationalized that I might as well. The storm was not getting any less loud and, frankly, I was afraid of falling back asleep. I got off the windowsill and walked across my room. Cracking the door open, I stuck my head into the hallway to try to figure out who was up. There were loud snores coming from Target’s bedroom, so I was pretty sure I was in the clear.
Closing the door quietly behind me, I crept down the stairs, trying not to wake up Target. I walked into the kitchen while tying my hair up into a bun. Sears was standing in front of the stove, frying pan handle in one hand and spatula in the other. He was wearing the same pajamas that I had first seen him in, superman pajama pants much more endearing than I remembered. I leaned on the counter next to him.
“Hey there,” I nudged his side with my elbow. Sears twisted slightly while he flipped his pancakes. “It’s a little early for breakfast, isn’t it?”
“I’m an equal opportunity pancake eater,” Sears muttered. Glancing at the clock above the oven, he turned to look at me full in the face. “Why are you up?” He flipped a pancake onto a plate that already held a stack of them and placed the frying pan into the sink.
“I’m assuming the same reason you are. Your dad’s probably the only one in the neighborhood not bothered by the storm.” At that moment, an extra loud snore echoed from upstairs and I laughed silently as I swung open the refrigerator.
“Hungry?” Sears shoved a pile of pancakes in my general direction and I shrugged.
Grabbing a bottle of orange juice and two cups from a cabinet, I took a seat at one head of the table and Sears took the other with a bottle of syrup tucked under his arm. After sitting quietly for a few minutes, passing the syrup back and forth and pouring orange juice, I noticed that Sears looked miserable. His eyes were bloodshot and his hair was all over the place as if he had been tossing and turning in his bed for a while.
“So, pancakes? I’m more of a waffle person, myself,” I smirked. Sears looked up from his plate looking slightly more offended by that comment than I had expected. “Not that there’s anything explicitly wrong with pancakes.” Sears’ eyes softened as he looked down on his plate again and thought for a bit.
“They’re thunderstorm food. I could never sleep through them as a kid. Mom used to get up with me and make pancakes so we’d have something to do.” Sears spoke as though this was not a big deal, but his body language suggested otherwise. “So tonight, when I couldn’t fall asleep and I had a craving…” Sears gestured around the kitchen. I nodded in response.
“To be perfectly honest, I was asleep for a while but I had an awful nightmare.” I closed my eyes and shook my head, trying to clear it of the images that were starting to surface. “Costco was being dismembered,” I mumbled. Sears sprung from his chair, spilling his glass of orange juice in the process.
“Are you sure?” he asked with a tone I did not recognize.
“Yes?” My answer came out sounding like a question, but I was positive. Sears’ behavior was what threw me off.
“He grabbed my hand and lead me up the stairs, through the hallway, to the outside of Target’s room.
“No, Sears, c’mon it’s so early! We can tell him in a few hours!” My whispers slurred together in my rush to try and stop Sears, but it was too late. He raised his hand and banged on Target’s door until, to my horror, it was flung open from the other side.
