EAST OF NOWHERE

On Saturday morning, I wake up to speckled light falling through the window and shimmy to the kitchen in my worn out bunny slippers. I place the kettle on the stove and then pick up the phone, punching in the numbers I’ve known since high school.
“RI-ING, RI-ING, RI-ING. This is Jeremy, you know what to do. BEEP.”
“Hey, you wanted to know about prices so I’m leaving you a message, even though this is really awkward. Okay. For about 3,000 you can have the primo stuff, 1,500 will buy you an aluminum sulfate cover, and for about 500 you can get a…cardboard box. The lady said there are other non-metal re-cep-ta-cles, too. I hope your date went okay.”
“BEEP. If you are satisfied with your message, press one. To re-record, press two. Click.”
I sit down at the table and recall the conversation I had with the lady. “What exactly are you looking for?” she had asked after listing the prices to me in a robotic tone, like she did this all the time and had better things to do than talk to me. “Not sure, this is for a friend of mine,” I replied. The lady clucked her tongue, but it wasn’t a sound you made out of sympathy for someone else, it was a sound of impatience. She kept talking, her voice brittle and bored, but that cluck was ringing in my head – cluck, cluck, cluck – I hung up.
On the front porch I can see the daughter of the landlord next to the Christmas tree that jingles. She’s shaking the cardboard presents and putting her ear up to the wrapping paper to listen. The phone rings, and I trip over the rug before limping over to answer it.
“Nice bunny slippers,” a creepy voice whispers. The line goes dead. I put the phone back in the receiver and walk towards the door to look out the peephole, but there’s no one there. Then, the phone rings again. I limp back towards the phone.
“Lucia!”
“Did you just call? Tell me the truth or I’m hanging up.”
“Define truth.”
“Good-bye, Jeremy.”
There’s a knock at my door. This is a very strange game. Normally, I’m used to games, but this one makes me uneasy like I don’t know the rules. I open the door with the chain lock still on.
Jeremy stands in a dark coat and blue stonewashed jeans, simple brown shoes on his feet. He’s carrying a wine bottle and there’s this wild grin on his face. I unlock the door.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“Nice to see you, too.”
He wraps his arms around me, smelling like musk and sweat and something else, like the street I grew up on, the trees along the sidewalk where I used to ride my bike. I realize I can feel his ribs poking through his shirt. There’s a few days worth of stubble on his chin and his eyes seem tired, wrinkles around the edges, but the lines compliment him, define his sadness.