Page 1 of Don’t Get Too Close

1

TED

The first thing I did after getting out of bed was peek out the windows. I kept the curtains closed all the time because it was no one’s business what I did inside my little trailer, but I also liked to know what was going on outside.

Be aware of your surroundings at all times was practically my motto for life.

And I never missed an opportunity to peek outside and see what was going on.

My trailer was positioned at the back of a five-acre lot. There were a few regular houses and a couple more trailers spread along the property, but mine was tucked behind some trees that blocked most of my view of the road. That was the main reason I picked this place. It wasn’t much to look at, but that meant it wasn’t a place people wanted to visit.

No one drove to the end of the lot unless they were looking for me, and I made sure no one was ever looking for me. If someone ever were, I’d be gone long before they had the chance to find me.

After making sure no one was poking around where they shouldn’t, I poured myself a bowl of cereal and dropped onto my threadbare recliner. Through the gap in the curtain, I could see the main house and my landlord’s truck parked beside it.

Bob was a decent guy who kept to himself. That was the second best thing about living there. I didn’t talk to anyone, and the neighbors realized pretty quickly that they didn’t need to talk to me. As long as no one tried to get up in my business, my little living arrangement worked out fine.

After a quick shower, I headed out for work.

My truck bounced along the gravel road because there were ruts deep enough to swim in when it rained, but that was also by design. Bob had offered to fill the holes, but I told him not to bother. I didn’t want to make it easier for people to get to me. My truck rattled over them with a new squeak every day, but Marge never let me down. Like her namesake, Marge Simpson, she was always there when I needed her and looked great with a blue top.

The diner I worked at was just a few miles down the road, so it didn’t take long to get there and pull into the driveway. It wasn’t a fancy place, but the food was good and the regulars were loyal. Most days, I worked the grill unless we got backed up and I had to help with the register. It wasn’t a great job and the pay was shit, but it suited me just fine.

Minimal interaction with people and enough money to cover my bills. That was all I needed.

My shift was uneventful, and nobody seemed to pay me any extra attention. That was a perfect day for me. But that didn’t mean that when I clocked out at three, I wasn’t anxious to get back into my little tin can of a home before shit went sideways.

The drive home was nice, so I rolled down the window and rested my arm on the door frame to catch the breeze. That’s when I heard the squealing noise I’d been trying to ignore. Apparently, it was time to replace the brake pads and rotors. I hadn’t done that in a while, but loud screeching every time I slowed down wasn’t the best way to stay under the radar.

And staying under the radar was always my biggest priority.

Bob was on his porch when I passed his house. He waved in my direction, but I quickly looked away, pretending I didn’t notice him. I didn’t want to encourage interaction with the old man. He was nice enough, but letting in one person always led to others.

The air was stuffy inside my trailer, so I immediately changed out of my work jeans and long sleeve shirt and into a pair of shorts and a light T-shirt. The lack of real insulation in the ancient trailer kept it furnace-level. It was a good thing I liked to sweat because even though I kept a little box fan constantly running, it was never enough to fully cool down the place.

Eighty-five was the lowest I could get it no matter the season. In the winter, the fan helped dissipate the forced air from the heater, but that usually left me sweating overnight.

As always, the curtains stayed shut.

I glanced out all the windows every hour or two just to ease my mind, but I didn’t leave any open gaps in the fabric. It wasn’t that easy to see through the dusty glass during the day, but once the lights came on at night, I worried anyone outside would be able to see where I was and what I was doing at all times.

Windows were a particularly sensitive subject for me. Throughout my life, I’d lived in plenty of rooms with no windows at all. It was disorienting and kinda terrifying to not know what was going on outside.

But on the flip side, if I could see out, people could see in. People I might not want to see inside.

So I always had to be careful with the curtains, leaving them just open enough for me to see without being seen.

Watch without being watched.

As silly as it sounded, the difference between feeling safe and not safe could be as simple as a piece of fabric.

I slowly peeked out the window, half expecting someone to have magically appeared since my last check. Someone who wanted to hurt me for sport…or pleasure. Nope, not gonna let those memories drag me down. Going down the rabbit hole of regret and shame from when I was sixteen and running for my life never led to anything good. And I wasn’t in the mood for a pity party.

Lots of people had shitty childhoods. That didn’t make me special.

Just because none of my foster homes were good didn’t mean I needed to curl up into a ball and cry about it.

It was a bad system with bad people who did bad things. Not all, of course. Some were good. None of the ones I was ever placed in, but some of the other kids had told me stories of loving families they’d been with. I was just over a year shy of my eighteenth birthday when I had a life-or-death decision to make. And if I hadn’t snuck out the back door with everything I owned in a tiny duffel bag when I did, I didn’t think I would’ve survived the night.