Moonstruck

Nicole quickened her step, anxious to reach the safety of her apartment. The night was sultry, dark and spooky, and even the few streetlights still working cast haloed penumbras that mocked their purpose. Suddenly, up the street a trashcan flew to the pavement, amid a commotion of barking and yowling. Frightened out of her wits, Nicole jumped and screeched. A big dog ran a cat into some hedges. She sighed with relief and patted her chest.

As she was approaching her yard, from an apartment across the street a man ran out barefoot and bare-chested, hollering like Rambo going into action. Doing a waggle dance and threatening, he slewed his arms and hit his pants to scare the dog off.

"Cut it out, Butchie!" he boomed. "Go on home!"

His craziness was a touch of comic relief and so abruptly entertaining that Nicole walked slower, watching and laughing at him.

Just before he reached Butchie, the dog backed off. Hunkered and growling fiercely, the intimidating man stomped his feet in place, and the dog took off yipping. With his arms plowing through the hedge, he soon pulled out a half-grown kitten, which he soothed against his broad chest with lots of stroking and gentle murmuring, rocking his brawny body from side to side.

Nicole stopped and watched, transfixed, and thinking him most unusual. Men generally liked dogs better than cats, or so she had always thought. At that moment, the man saw her standing under the streetlight and waved. She raised her hand to wave back, and the streetlight popped out! She lurched, screeching, and ran to her door. Inside, her apartment looked like a copy of the Addams Family household, but for a moment there, the extra adrenalin surging through her veins had made her forget how tired she was, and it felt good to be here.

No sooner had Nicole dropped her purse on the ugly plaid sofa than a knock sounded on her door. Warily, she pulled the threadbare curtain back a smidgeon and saw the outrageous man standing on the stoop, still holding the kitten.

He saw her and called out, "Would you happen to have some milk?" He pointed to the scrawny little gray kitten.

Nicole looked at the kitten and saw how he cuddled it. Under the light, she could see the man clearly. With a face like a gentle old bull, he had kind eyes set under thick brows. Even though she thought it may be the biggest mistake of her young life, she could not resist assisting his humane effort on behalf of the kitten.

Nicole pointed her finger down. "Stay right there," she called. "I won’t be a minute."

Nervously, she sped into her tiny kitchen and filled a small jelly jar with milk. Then she quickly opened the door and stuck a hand out with it.

"Thanks," the man said. "I just couldn’t see sending this little baby out without something behind these little ribs. By the way, I’m your neighbor, Troy Helms. I’ve seen you go in and out over here. I’m just an old bachelor, and I work at the post office up the street."

Opening the door a little wider, Nicole blinked doubtfully and mumbled, "Good luck with the kitten, Troy. Goodnight."

"Hey, the least I can do is offer you a cup of coffee," he persisted. "You’re Nicole Swanson, aren’t you?"

"Why yes," she responded, taken off guard.

"I saw it on your mailbox," he said, laughing and pulling the kitten back before it disappeared over his shoulder. "You’ve got sharp claws, pal," he cooed to the kitten.

"If you’ll excuse me now, Troy, I’ve had an enervating day. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, and thanks," he said as she closed the door and promptly locked it.

Usually when Nicole came home, she read her textbooks while she had some juice or tea, but tonight her bones ached, and all she wanted was to go to bed. She could sleep late in the morning. Sundays were her only days off. Weekdays were for school, and on Saturdays she worked at Younkers in the cosmetics department. Each new day presented the same old challenge, to fight off loneliness with schoolwork, and to get by until she could save enough to get her car fixed. Lord, she missed her car.

* * *

At midnight, another uproar across the street awoke Nicole. Motorcycles revving, loud pounding, and angry shouting sent her bounding to the window. From the looks of it, a band of bikers was breaking in on Troy Helms! The whole neighborhood must be awake by now, but no one was showing his face or helping.

The night looked like a cartoon version of Sleepy Hollow, a breezeless and muggy half-moon night that afforded only a sketchy view of what was happening. The stillness intensified the noise. She had to call the police! Without turning on her light, Nicole fumbled for her phone to call nine-one-one. There was no dial tone! Today, the phone company had disconnected her service! Unless she paid her bills, the lights would go next.

To get a better view, Nicole made her way into the living room and stealthily watched through the window from there. Now the bikers were roaring off down the street. At first she did not see Troy Helms, but just as she started to turn away and go back to bed, she saw movement by the foliage across the street. About that time, two police cars whizzed by with sirens blaring, pursuing the bikers, evidently not noticing Troy half hidden by the hedges.

Nicole’s heart was pounding rampantly. What should she do? she wondered. Help him, of course. Without thought to her skimpy pajamas, she darted out the door and took a swift look around. Where were the neighbors? Throwing caution to the wind, she raced across the street and knelt beside Troy. The kitten had found him and was rubbing its head against Troy’s hand. She patted Troy’s face.

"Troy! Can you hear me? Try to wake up."

"I’m okay," he mumbled, rolling his head over but not making a move to get up.

Nicole patted his face again. "Can you get up? Troy, I’m scared to death out here, but I want to help you. Try to raise up."

At that point, he started moving his arms and legs, trying to come around enough to get up. With a foot on each side of him, Nicole pulled on his arms, tugging, tugging, tugging. When he raised his head, she scrambled behind him and pushed up on his shoulders.

"I hate to rush you, Troy, but we’ve got to get inside," she pleaded through heavy panting and grunting. "Can you make it over to my place?"

Groaning, Troy rolled over on his hands and knees and finally struggled to his feet, but he was stumbling around like a drunk man. Nicole pulled his arm across her shoulder and started toward her door. He was a heavy brute, but she managed to balance him. She got him into her house, and as she was closing the door, another police car whizzed by without stopping. For the life of her she could not understand it. This man could have died in his front yard for all they cared.