Blind Loving [ ON HOLD ]

00 | The Return Of The 50s

00 | The Return Of the 50s

FUNDS ARE REFUSING TO lose their strike and my account balance is slowly reaching bankrupt. My hard earned cash was getting checked, bounced and clerked by every telemarketing agency in the tristate area. Although, I still refused to realize what my independent life has come to.

I'd been cut off. By my family, friends, even my puppy from back home stopped cheering whenever I returned—or tried to. It was no use due to my father's avail. I was hopeless. The days were slowly, gradually reaching the peak of my winter break. And going home may have been my only option.

But going home meant picking a profession I had absolutely no interest in pursuing. Medicine. Just the mere thought of having to cut people open for a living, sent chills down my spine. All the blood, and bones, and theatrics, and everything that goes into play while being a surgeon. But according to my father, it was great. Blood and all.

But to me, writing was my only sense of direction. And that was something, that no matter how hard I tried—my father couldn't understand.

Well—that's Rodger Wisconsin for you, bent out of shape by his stubbornness.

My apartment is quiet, lonely, even. But the Christmas lights surrounding the small space keeps me a bit of company. I'm baking— when I left home I'd taken all kinds of my mother's recipes, one is being used. The fresh smell of oatmeal cookies spring from my kitchen, and to my nose.

Light laughter echos from upstairs, and it makes me feel even more lonely, by the family dinner cooperation happening in the apartment above mine.

I'm profusely concentrated on the television playing in front of my love seat. But the entertainment isn't as entertaining as I'd hoped. But game shows aren't always up to plate.

But I know tomorrow, will be better than today.
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     I'D NEVER ONCE LOOKED forward to going to work, so early in the morning that the sun hadn't even come out yet. But, I'd sucked up sulking and began to sink into that stupid Sonic uniform—along with my roller skates.

Sure, I was professional and all—but if I had to work in my socks because of these stupid skates, than I would. No hesitation. But of course, Mr. Bradford had no idea of my plans to wait vehicles in my fuzzy, Christmas socks.

That thought made me laugh. Until I hear blaring noises of honking outside of apartment 32b—my apartment.

I'm out of my place quickly, checking the locks on my way out. I hold a hand up for Beverly to still the shrill sounds of her blaring horn. My home is locked up, and I'm settled in the passenger seat of Beverly Grant's legendary cherry red Cadilac. She smiles, bright red lipstick twisting along her lips. She was beautiful. Her blonde curls bounce along the twists and turns of her neck.

I'm caught off guard when her arms wrap themselves tightly around my neck. "Darling! It's been too long. Why don't you call anymore?"

"Phone bill," I reply shyly. "Getting kind of high—can't really afford our four hour calls anymore. Sorry, Bev." I flash an apologetic smile her way, but she only dismisses it with a flick of her pale wrist.

"Oh, don't worry about it, Charlie. Besides, without you, I'd have no reason to drive all the way down to Brooklyn. I'm Manhattan horn." Her beaming smile brightens my mood, and I can't help but miss her presence—even with her right beside me.

I lay my head down on her leather clad shoulder, "I've miss you, Beverly Grant."

"And I've missed you, Charles Wisconsin."

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     I CHECK THE DIGITAL clock sitting at the foot of the nearest wall. 2:17, it read, and I grumble beneath my breath. My shift didn't end until 3:45. And that was considering Mr. Bradford didn't want me to ice the cheesecakes again as overtime—although I wouldn't mind the extra cash.

I shake those thoughts from my mind, getting back to cheesing the cheese fries. I hear murmurs coming from the cash register, and I figure Shanon is having payment trouble with a costumer. I pick up the salt shaker, salting the cheese fries once more, before placing them onto the round shaped bowl—made of plastic.

But the murmurs in the front of the building get louder, and I can hear Shanon's shouting from the fry station.

I round my way over to the front, frowning at what I saw.

There's Shanon, a few bucks laying on the counter in front of her, and she's yelling profusely at a boy who looks utterly terrified of her. But apparently, she isn't finished yet, and throws the dollars at him, them fluttering to the ground. The boy, who's dressed like he'd walked right out of a Ralph Lauren magazine, rushes to pick them up.

This has Shanon crossing her arms, swearing under her breath. "Jesus, Bob. I don't need this right now, okay? If this is such an issue for you, take it up with Bradford, alright? But if you bother me again, I'm going to Human Resources—and my father, the sheriff." With that, Shanon storms off, her heels clicking along the tile. The drama that goes along with being attractive. I shake my head.

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     I UNLOCK THE DOOR to my apartment, pushing it open and stepping inside. I slip out of my shoes, slumping against the floor, sliding down the front door. Today had been a long, hard, stressful day. Full of shouting, working, and cheese fries. I'd cheesed so many fries today, that I probably couldn't consume any for the next seven years. Cue exaggeration.

A shower would do me some good, along sign a nap that lasts eternity. The amount of work I do in a day has my mind aching just thinking about it. I have another shift tonight, 8:00 o'clock sharp. Two shifts a day has been my life for the last six years.

I remove my t-shirt, watching my forearms flex and sprout with each stretch. I spot a light scar on my left peck, and I smirk. Beverly definitely did that while throwing one of her world class fits.

Once my clothes are removed, I'm under the hot, sensual steam of water streaming down my back. My muscles release the tension work had created, and I'm almost grateful for the hard work, or resting wouldn't feel this nice.

Knocks at my front door interrupt my thoughts, and I'm genuinely confused. Who on God's good Earth would be at my door? Beverly lived all the way in Manhattan—that's a 45 minute drive. With New York's legendary traffic—2 hours.

The knocks get more intense, and by now I'm utterly annoyed by whoever was interrupting my relaxation. But I suck it up and head over to my bedroom, naked and all. "I'll be right there!" I shout loudly, and the knocking stops.

I slip on boxers and pair of random grey sweatpants, a sweatshirt right after. I jog over to the front door, hesitantly unlocking the lock, and removing the chain. I swing the door open, towards me.

I stop, looking ahead, my entire being on pause. Stood before me, is the one and only Johnathan Wells. He shoots me a faint smile, military attire covering him from head to toe. He removes the camouflaged cap from his head, holding it to his chest.

"Hey, Charlie."