Chapter Four

The walk home is longer than I would have wanted, but that's only because I chose to walk really slowly through Leester's downtown. It's not really much, but I've noticed that it's become more modernized as the years have gone on. Like, for instance, there's the diner that Minnie works at, The Zip. It's meant to look retro, like its supposed to be on the set of Grease. It's got these overstuffed, cushiony red booths that don't really let you sit down because of how springy they are, pictures of every music icon ever hanging on every square inch of the walls. Vinyl records are plastered to the ceiling. It's like sitting in a moving time capsule.

If that's not enough, the waiters and waitresses have to dress like they're from the fifties. The guys have to slick back their hair with hair gel that hardens after awhile, and wear leather jackets. The girls have to keep their hair up with silky ribbons and wear poofy hoop skirts that make them look like cake toppers. I look into the giant picture window that lets the people walking by peer inside. I see Minnie sitting at the one of the stools at the counter, fastening a little ribbon to her work shirt since she can't wear it in her hair. It's still too short. Below the ribbon is her name tag, that says that she's the manager in big bold letters. Her light blue skirt billows out around her skinny frame, giving her the silhouette of a feather duster. She swivels around to face the window, and I see that she's holding something in her hands. It's long and skinny. She stares at it with tears that are bubbling in her eyes. She closes them and the tears spill down her cheeks. Denny, who's got a comb in one hand and his leather jacket in the other, comes up behind her. His eyes go wide when he sees what's in her hand. He drops the comb and jacket and wraps his muscular arms around her as she cries. 

I want to go inside. I want to ask what's wrong. But I'm still mad at her, and I still don't like Denny, but he''s trying to comfort her, and that's good. The door to the restaurant opens, and in walks a man, a tall, skinny guy with butter yellow hair that's brushed into a side part. He has a long, skinny face, and round glasses that make his eyes look twice as big as they should. He makes his way to the counter and picks a greasy looking paper bag from the lineup that's sitting there. 

He's probably already paid through his phone. He unrolls the top of the bag and peers inside. His thin lips turn up into a smile. He rolls up the bag again, and heads out the door with a little spring in his step. He bounds past me, and I wait until he's a few steps in front of me before I start walking again. I glance at the window, and Minnie is gone. 

I notice that the man is wearing a blue blazer, which would be nothing special, if not for the fact that the back was emblazoned with cursive cut-outs of what I could guess were his initials. KE. 

Was it a bold fashion choice?  Maybe. Who was I to critique someone else's fashion sense? I wear the same thing every day, except for Tuesdays, which we all know pretty well by now. I quicken my pace. KE doesn't seem to notice that anyone's behind him. We make our way down the whole street, until we come to a crosswalk. I round the curb, and KE follows suit. 

We pass a couple of other shops, all of them are high-end-looking. KE stops to take a look at some of the handmade dresses that clothe the mannequins in the window of one specific shop. His gaze lingers there for a moment, but he starts off once again. Soon, we're out of town, and in a neighborhood, my neighborhood. We make a few turns, and we're on my street. 

He's heading toward my home. I feel my breathing pick up.

KE'S pace slows as he comes upon the front walkway to the house next to mine, the one that's been for sale for ages. His shoes squelch against the grass as he uproots the FOR SALE sign from his front lawn. He's still holding his greasy lunch from The Zip. He grins to himself, before noticing me. He nods at me. 

"Hey, neighbor." His voice is reedy and nasally. I try not to cringe at the sound. 

I don't say anything. 

KE frowns and he nods again.  He tucks the sign under his arm, still holding the bag, mind you, and tromps up his front steps. I do the same, and lock my door behind me. I don't know why, but I don't like that guy, who I guess is my neighbor now. 

Today is just unfolding to be not-so-good, I've decided, and of course today just has to be Red Sweater Day.