Page 47 of The Man I Hate

I feared my life would continue the same pattern of deterioration until I was in so deep that I could never dig my way out. Like the dirty dishwater draining from the kitchen sink after a holiday family feast, the Cheetos, empty champagne bottles, and my tired sunken eyes would eventually be sucked into downwardly spiraling vortex. I’d, of course, go right along with them, never to be seen again.

All that would be required to set the event in motion was for someone to pull the plug.

I needed to develop a new routine. A schedule that included exercise, eating properly, and keeping my mind occupied with work would be a good start. For now, my only chance at a normal slice of life would be my daily meetings with Marge. Not that shouting halfway up the block at a stranger was normal.

Maybe it was the new normal.

Nearly comatose from my early morning news intake, I finished the bag of Cheetos and washed it down with the bottle of champagne. While I considered getting up from the sunken couch cushion, my phone pinged.

I had no idea where it was.

Following a frantic 10-minute long search, I found it in the kitchen amidst the previous night’s Milano cookie wrappers and a weeks’ worth of empty orange juice cartons.

A message from Braxton illuminated the screen. Beyond frustrated with him, but eager to see what he had to say, I tapped the text with the tip of my finger and opened it.

Sorry about how things unfolded the other night. I’d like to extend an olive branch. No games. No BS. Only a heartfelt apology. Let me know.

I quickly typed my response. Before I pressed send, I read the message to make sure I didn’t sound like an asshole.

I’m not opposed to an in-person heartfelt apology, but I’ll only accept it after you’ve been home for 14 days. I can’t take any chances on being infected. I doubt you’ll be up for that, considering that you come and go like nothing’s going on. lmk

I changed “lmk” to “let me know” and pressed send.

Satisfied that I’d made my point about my beliefs regarding his lack of compliance with the stay at home order, I clutched my phone and paced the floor. After an hour passed with no reply, I took a shower.

The next two hours passed at the pace of a foreign language documentary.

I checked my watch every five minutes, for an hour. Then, every ten minutes or so for the following hour.

The remaining thirty minutes passed one moment at a time, with me staring mindlessly at my phone as the seconds ticked away. Finally, four o’clock arrived.

Well, almost.

To prevent myself from going completely bonkers, I stepped outside at ten minutes before the hour.

I walked to the middle of the drive and peered across the street. Marge was down on her hands and knees, digging beside an Agave. Dressed in a pair of lime green pants and a short sleeved white blouse, she looked better than she did the day before.

I was dressed in sweatpants, an old tee shirt, and a pair of flip-flops. My sweats were clean, but it was obvious that I needed to step up my late afternoon outfit game if I was going to compete with Marge.

“Good afternoon,” I shouted.

She glanced over her shoulder. Upon seeing me, she stood. “Good afternoon.” She gestured toward the cactus with the small shovel she held. “I was just killing some time. This agave needed some attention.”

“This place is so weird,” I said. “Nobody has grass in their yards. Only rocks and cactus.”

“Grass won’t grow,” she said with a laugh. “It needs rain.” She gazed up at the cloudless sky. “It never rains here.”

“My mother said this place is the land of drought and dreams.”

She smiled. “In other words, sunshine and happiness.”

Although it was late afternoon, the sun felt brutal. I shielded my eyes from it and peered at Marge. “How long have you been out here?”

She looked at her watch. “Oh, I don’t know.” She removed her gloves and tucked them into her armpit. “Maybe an hour.”

I felt cheated. It was an hour that I could have had some resemblance of normalcy in my life. Talking to someone—anyone—was the only thing that was going to keep me sane throughout the pandemic.

I was convinced of it.