"As I fill my book,
Oh, what a waste of wood.
Nothing's really happened like I thought it would"
She unfolded the lapel from her coat, clutching it close to her face. The night had turned colder than she expected, and the streets leading up to her building channelled the wind like a river through narrow stone paths.
She picked up her phone to pass the time as she was walking, but something moving on the other side of the road caught her attention, warranting a second glance.
The silhouette of a man, crossing the street toward her, made her tense, the instinct to flee rising as he drew closer. Every horrible thought raced through her mind before one finally forced its way to the front: “It’s just a man in the dark. Stop freaking out.” She looked at her phone as a safety net, quickly pressed the last number she had dialled and started talking as if someone had called her instead.
“Yes Jill, I’m literally turning onto your street as we speak. No need to worry....Oh Shit! I forgot the wine. Do you still want me to...you sure?” She was eyeing the man as she spoke. Tall, broad shoulders, a few specks of white in his dark beard. He had the hood of his jacket pulled over his head, shadowing his facial features. As they crossed paths, she could feel herself tense up…a slight pitch in her voice as the word “wine” was coming out. The man’s scent, as he walked through, drifted towards her with a wave of nostalgia - a Hugo Boss perfume her father used to wear broke through her uneasiness. She always smelled that aroma when he hugged her.
And in a split second, he was gone. They had crossed paths and the breath she didn’t know she was holding was finally exhaled.
The man's steps behind her grew quieter as the space between them slowly stretched.
“Hello?” That last number she had dialled in a panic finally picked up.
*
Dean was checking Google Maps directions on his phone, when it suddenly rang in his hand. As soon as he heard the heavy breathing on the line, he knew his daughter had made the call. Ever since she started walking, she had developed a fascination for her mother's phone, which had led to more than a few funny situations with impromptu phone calls.
“Lila Dear, are you with mommy?” He asked, anticipating the answer with a smile. “Dada!” And silence. He smiled to himself as he listened - these little serendipitous moments between nap times, feeding schedules and all the chaos, were the ones he had learned to appreciate. He heard movement in the back and his wife’s voice came on shortly after, exhaling a sigh of relief as she answered.
“Thank god it’s you. I was wondering who would I have to apologise to this time for the call. I swear if I ever lose my phone, all I have to do is follow her around for a few minutes and she’ll find it! Did you find the store?”
“Almost. Judging by the GPS, it should be just around the next block. Did you remember anything else, or is it just what’s on the list?”
“I think I got it all. Check if they have yellow pacifiers, not the red ones. Somehow she refuses to use the red ones.”
“Got it. Oh! Funny thing happened to me just now - I think some girl on the street thought I was a murderer or a robber!”
Dean could almost picture his wife stifling a laugh as he said it.
“They’re on to you Hun! Do we need to get new IDs again? Run away to Zihuatanejo?”
A soft chuckle escaped him before he replied, “I told you this jacket makes me look like a murderer. Poor girl almost started running before we crossed paths.”
“That jacket looks great! I’m sure you read the situation wrong. It’s a vintage Pierre Cardelli. No murderer would risk getting that smeared with blood.”
He could sense by her tone she was really proud of coming up with that one on the spot. His phone beeped in his ear. The store was two buildings away on the other side of the street.
He reached the intersection and even though the light had just turned green for him, he quickly glanced left and right as he stepped onto the road. From the corner of his eye, he glimpsed a metal blur moving at unnatural speed, straight towards him. The car’s headlights flashed, urging him out of the way, yet he froze for half a second before jumping back towards the sidewalk, screaming in the process "You fucking idiot!" at the passing car.
No one else was around and Dean stood there for a few seconds, watching the car slow down, his blinkers flashing briefly and speeding up again.
“Honey!!” He heard his wife screaming through the phone before realising he was still holding it. The knuckles on his right hand turned white from the pressure of his grip. He achingly released the tension and brought his phone back to his ear.
“I’m here, honey. Sorry…I was just almost ran over.”
“WHAT? Where are you? Are you okay? Who was it?” he could hear she was sick with worry. Shooting out questions before he interrupted her
“I’m Fiiine….Hey. Hey. I’m fine. It’s all good. Some Asshole was speeding and probably didn’t see me. All good. I have Spider-Man reflexes.” He talked calmly, in a soothing yet playful tone to make sure she knew nothing happened.”
“You…okay. Just an asshole… okay, hun. Hurry back home.”
*
“Jesus! I almost ran over someone! Just… let me make sure… Okay, they’re standing.” The driver slowed down and winced as he saw the man cursing at him. He turned his blinkers on as an apology but kept moving.
“Wait, what?” The voice of a child, no more than 10, came through the car's Bluetooth speaker.
“It’s alright sweetie. No one was hurt, all is good. Just focus on your breathing, I’ll be there in a few minutes.” The car kept speeding through half-empty streets and yellow lights, honking its horn and signalling frantically at every intersection. He had one hand on the wheel and the other on his daughter’s inhaler. They always packed it just in case, even though she hadn’t had a serious episode for a few years. The one time she had dropped it in the car was the one time she needed it.
“Soooo, tell me, which songs did you choose to play at the recital?”
The girl’s heavy breathing slowed down as she regained the strength to answer, “I’m going with Vivaldi’s Four Seasons and I’m mixing it up with Dua Lipa’s Levitating. I like the contrast.”
Adam smiled at his daughter’s answer. So much determination and bravado in someone so small, barely a baby a few years ago. He had to keep her talking to make sure she remained calm. “Wow…that sounds amazing! Levitating was that song you made me play in the car every time we picked up your friend Susan from School, right? The one you two were always singing?
“Yes, that’s the one! It won the Billboard awards in 2022. That song is so good!”
He crossed a red light at a busier intersection, muting the phone’s microphone and honking repeatedly to warn oncoming traffic he wasn’t stopping. Two of the three cars coming from the right got the message. The third kept moving towards the crossing, oblivious to the commotion for a few seconds before hearing the yells and honks from the other two drivers. The clueless blue Sedan stopped abruptly, confused, but he was already blocking the right-way lanes.
“Shit, shit, shit!!!” Adam repeated to himself as he swerved left into oncoming traffic to avoid the collision. A single car was driving slowly on the opposite lane, confused by all the ruckus. He saw Adam enter his lane and swerved right as quickly as he could but their rearview mirrors still crashed with a loud crunching noise followed by broken glass hitting the asphalt.
“Sorry! Sorry! I'll pay! Emergency!” Adam yelled through his open window and kept driving. He could hear the honks and the yelling of slurs from the driver getting quieter as he drove off, blinkers on to apologise. He was one minute away from the school.
He unmuted his mic and asked his daughter, “Daddy’s just around the corner. Are you feeling okay?”
“Yeah…I guess I’m better…” her breathing sounded almost normal. Enough for him to take his foot off the gas and look for a proper parking spot. “I’m sorry Daddy, I just…panicked. I was too nervous and started breathing all wrong and was afraid that…” He cut her off with a calm, self-assured voice “It’s all good baby. I’m just parking the car, I got the inhaler just in case. The important thing is that you’re okay.” Adam saw a parking spot just in front of the school, drove up to it and honked twice. A grey cat was lying down on the asphalt, watching him honk.
“Move, you stupid cat!” he yelled, as he kept honking, frustrated. The cat slowly tilted its head sideways, staring at him condescendingly, like a king to a lunatic. He looked down at his paws and started licking them, slowly, almost mockingly. The honking finally stopped, and Adam got out of the car and ran towards the school, leaving the car on the driving lane with blinkers on. As he ran past the ever-so-calm grey feline, its eyes following him, lazily, paws crossed beneath its chest, he muted his phone and yelled, enraged, “Fucking IDIOT cat!”
He felt a bit ridiculous a second later, took a few deep breaths to calm himself and unmuted the phone mid-jog. “You okay, Honey? Yeah? Oh, I see you! Daddy’s here!”
*
Duchamp, third to his name, looked bemused as the metal giant stopped a few meters ahead of him, its incessant honking barely registering in his mind. He calculated he had ample time to jump away if the metallic beast decided to charge at him. Duchamp found it disrespectful that anyone in the neighbourhood would still threaten him. He had just won a war against the rival cat for his favourite territory - the one where the lady from 3B, at the corner building, usually left tuna and water by the fire escape. He was feeling so good about himself that he thought nothing would be able to touch him.
His rival was a bigger, slightly younger cat. They had crossed paths multiple times around the block and the tension between them meant neither cat could nap or eat a meal without looking over his shoulder. It had to be solved.
Duchamp had spent days looking for the perfect spot to fight for neighbourhood dominance. He discovered that the sprinklers in the garden near the church would spray water when the lights turned on in the evening. Countless hours were spent in that same garden, sharpening his claws on nearby trees, before he noticed the pattern. His plan was simple - to lure the other cat there by sundown, just as the sprinklers turned on - which would steal his attention for a brief second - and pounce on him.
That fateful day, he had been surprised by his rival while idly looking at windows from the top of a brick wall that separated two courtyards. He barely heard the air move when the other cat landed behind him, hissing and clawing before he had a chance to get up. Swipes, scratches and growls were exchanged before Duchamp noticed the time - the orange hue from the sun setting reflected on the windows behind the courtyard - and he ran away, hoping his rival would give chase.
He heard the growling behind him as the bigger cat almost caught up - a swipe of his leg missing by mere inches - but Duchamp was on a mission. He had to reach the Church’s courtyard.
A few blocks later and a few breaths heavier, Duchamp finally turned around to face his opponent. As soon as the big cat hissed, as if like clockwork, the sprinklers came on. It all happened in a second - Duchamp jumped towards the surprised cat as he closed his eyes for a brief moment to shield himself from the water. The claw was precise. Sharpened nails stretched out, the tip of his rival’s ear cut clean off. He howled as blood started dripping onto the grass. Duchamp jumped on the bigger cat and held him down until he felt the fight leave his rival’s body, untensing his muscles and lowering his nose in submission.
He was reminiscing about his win when he noticed a human yelling at him as he descended from the metal beast. Duchamp looked at him quizzically, fascinated by their willingness to shout and embarrass themselves for no reason.
His favourite human came to mind - the one literally worth fighting for. It was already nighttime and she usually placed the tuna by the window around this time. It was still a ten minute walk, so he stretched his legs and started trotting.
*
10 minutes later, Duchamp climbed the fire escape stairs from the corner building to Apartment 3B. The small bowl of water and half-open can of tuna never looked so delicious. The fight had left him starved and the jog had made him parched - both soon forgotten as he ate and drank while silently purring to himself. The fire escape was dimly lit by the light spilling from the woman’s kitchen. She was home. He could hear her talking to someone over that black thing humans look at all day.
“You’re not gonna believe the night I had, Dad. I was practically robbed on the street a few minutes ago by a guy in a hoodie.
…
No, no, I’m okay! He didn’t attack me but I could feel he wanted to!”
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