That Was The Worst Sleepover Ever!

Their house was a squat, one-story ranch in a lower middle class neighborhood across town. The kind of neighborhood where instead of repaving the roads, they'd just cauterize any abrasions with poorly applied dollops of tar, turning rollerblading into a clumsy ballet of balancing and bracing yourself for a fall. The grass in the front yard was mostly wilted, except for a circular patch in the direct center of the lawn which was a darker shade of brown; implying maybe that it was extra dead. Like ours, they had a gravel driveway. The difference lay in the exposed patches of dirt; undoubtedly a result of shoveling during the winter and no effort made to redistribute the displaced gravel that following spring.

As we walked toward the side porch I took note of the sheer volume of cigarette butts scattered amidst the shrubbery. An attempt was made to count as many as I could, but the idea was abandoned as I soon realized that our current system of Arabic notation wasn't adequately structured to handle the task. Hanging from the door was a decaying pine cone wreath which had obviously been purchased at one of those old-timey bargain stores featuring antiquated candy, cat puzzles and more product crafted entirely of wicker than one would ever think possible. Even the toy aisle, which was always viewed by children as the oasis in the middle of a desert filled with nothing but gaudy "down home" crap was nothing more than a confusing assortment of off-brand action figures, neon guns which made up to eight septate noises with a press of the trigger (including, for some reason, the sound of a grenade being thrown and detonated) and cheap themed playsets like POLICE SQUAD! or ARMY PATROL!

She made an awkward attempt to shift the bag she was holding from one arm to the other while retrieving her keys, which was entirely unnecessary as I'd offered to carry it for her and I followed behind as she nudged the door open with her hip. I didn't have much time to ponder the symbolic crossing of this threshold between sanity and madness, as my inner monologue was interrupted by a sharp, piercing screech.

EHP!

It was the sort of shrill, high-pitched yelp you'd expect to hear coming from a puppy who'd just been kicked in the ribcage.

"Shoes off at the door."

I couldn't understand how a family with such a complete disregard for external appearances could be so adamant about enforcing this particular rule. It seemed so arbitrary. Like, out of any policy to maintain in regard to sanitation, why that one? I likened it to plugging a dam up with chewing gum. My ideological discord aside, I slipped my shoes off and gingerly toe-stepped my way over to the kitchen table.

"I'm gonna get started on dinner. Ya want a drink or somethin' while ya wait fer Keith to get home?"
"Uhh yeah. Sure." "Fridge is over there. You don't gotta wait to be offered, ya know. If yer thirsty ya can grab somethin'."
"Heh... yeah, sorry. I'll uhh... yeah."

I opened the refrigerator and took quick stock of anything sealed or otherwise non-penetrable, and eventually settled on a can of Coke. With my back against the edge of the wall where the hallway intersected with the kitchen I began contemplating whether I should try and initiate some sort of forced conversation out of common courtesy or silently occupy myself with my drink for a good few minutes until I was sure I'd left her line of sight, at which point I'd slip around the corner and make my way toward Keith's room. I tend to do things like that quite often. I'll create little moments of awkward social tension that don't really exist, then calculate and rationalize the precise course of action required of me to remove myself from the environment. In this case, that precise course of action entailed compulsively sipping my soda without letting any actually penetrate my lips while casting a nervous glance from where she was standing to the Toadies poster hanging on Keith's bedroom door.

"I've got to... y'know, the bathroom," I managed to blurt out between fake sips. I took a step back and caught my heel on the edge of the baseboard. I made an awkward lunge at the wall with my free hand in an attempt to stabilize myself. Once I'd regained balance I opened my mouth as if to say something, decided there was something to be said for silent dignity and sheepishly turned around to head down the hall.

To be continued.