Simple Sunday.
That’s what Vanessa had begun calling it. For her and Derick seemed like they
were running around nonstop during the week, she had proclaimed Sunday to be
only theirs. There would be no phone calls, gym trips, cleaning house, running
errands. Anything strictly productive was strictly off limits.
She had proclaimed it a day where
they would lounge around, enjoy each other and revel in being lazy for the day.
It was an idea that Derrick supported wholeheartedly.
Vanessa was just inside the kitchen
plating a salad that was high on bacon bits and low on greens.
Derrick was out on the porch
burning hot dogs. The sun was getting tired and hung low in the west. He
watched it, not having to shield his eyes from the glare any longer. As the hot
dogs sizzled and he sipped a beer that had been made warm by the early evening
heat, he also surveyed the patio. It was a fenced in number, surrounded by
white trellis where ivy spiraled as it pleased. Faded orange brick now floored
all but a small strip of grass. To remedy this, Vanessa had placed numerous
planters overflowing with arrangements of cacti and succulents. The reds and yellows were set ablaze by the light
of the sinking sun.
The original rolling fence that
served as a means to allow those with cars a place to park (a rarity when the
home was first built) had become an eyesore. Dilapidated, rickety and it
squealed like a rat when opened or closed.
“Stop looking at the fence please
honey.”
Derick smiled, knowing Vanessa
couldn’t see him from inside, “How’d you know?”
“Lucky guess.” She yelled back. “My
hot dog burnt yet?”
Derick lifted the lid to the grill.
“Crispy, but not blackened as you prefer. Few more minutes.”
He closed the lid, hung the fork on
the grill’s handle, and snuck over to the gate. He eyeballed the monstrosity.
He wriggled the top bar, the antiquated barrier reeled. He gripped the fence’s
top bar with both hands and shook it mightily. The metal wrenched in response
Derrick wondered if he might just be able to wrench it out of the concrete by
hand. As he got bolder, he took a deep breath and tugged as hard as he could.
The fence wailed in agony as Derrick inadvertently caused it to roll along on
its beaten up track and wheel.
“Stop it, it can wait!” Vanessa
stood arms folded at the back door. “Don’t make me bludgeon you with salad
tongs!” She waved the plastic instrument as though it was a riding crop.
Derik turned, had his hands up in
surrender. She walked towards him still brandishing the tongs. “Now kiss me.”
Derick bent down slightly, planted
a kiss, and stole the tongs, and playfully smacked Vanessa’s rump.
Vanessa’s smile was larger than
life, “You asshole!”
“Gotta run inside real quick. Check
the hot dogs for me?” Derick flashed a playful middle finger as he headed for
the backdoor.
Vanessa walked over to the grill,
but not before kicking the old fence herself.
She removed the lid and took in the
thick smell of cooking meat. She prodded a couple of the dogs, and then moved
two particularly crunchy specimens to the center of the grill to increase their
char. She got distracted by the setting sun. Her worldbecame a warm haze of
soft pinks, warm orange and faded red. Vanessa was just about to holler that
Derick was missing the sunset when she heard the telltale creak of the fence
moving along it track.
“C’mon hon’ really?” she walked
forward to get a good view of the driveway, expecting to see Derick out there
with some ridiculous power tool. Instead she saw a man running the fence long
its track to open it. Behind him, two
people hovered just outside of her property line along the street. A man with a
shaved head and acne scars, and a woman with long hair. Hers was the color of
blonde one would expect after exposure to too much chlorine.
The first man, clad in baggy cargo
shorts and a faded tee, had finished opening the gate.
Vanessa stiffened, “Can I help
you?”
The trio seemed to look past her.
Derick had emerged from inside.
Derick sensed a tenseness to the situation, “What do you people want?”
Baldy shrugged, while Cargo Shorts
continued to advance across the small driveway. Chlorine just stared, her eyes
drifting from Vanessa to Derrick and back again.
Derick maneuvered in front of
Vanessa, “Get inside, call the police.” Vanessa retreated indoors. He raised a hand
at the intruders, “Listen you are trespassing, I am within my rights to secure my
property.”
The three intruders shared a desperate
look. They didn’t seem haggard exactly, but their faces appeared overused, as if
they were older than their bodies let on.
Derick began to back up as well,
working his way to the mud room that led into the kitchen. “The police are
being called. If you continue to advance I will defend myself.”
Chlorine smiled at him and winked.
Cargo Shorts and Baldy pushed
forward, closing the gap.
Derick’s mind was a fast burning fuse.
What do they want…sssss….are they drugged
up….sssss…I need a weapon….sssss
Baldy was now within kicking
distance and Cargo Shorts wasn’t too far behind.
“I’m not going to tell you again.”
Derick shouted, and puffed up.
Baldy pressed forward and swung a poky
jab in his direction. Derick didn’t have to move, but he did, trying to
reposition himself in a way that wouldn’t allow the men to dog pile him. He was
afraid to go for the door, thinking that the three might swarm him, take him
down. Then Vanessa would be alone. Derrick circled behind the grill.
Baldy looked into Derick’s eyes, a
smile had crash landed on his face. The man rushed forward. Derick kicked the
grill over, Baldy’s right leg and knee collided with it forcing him to the
ground. As the embers of the grill spilled out harmlessly onto the ground, Cargo
Shorts saw an opening and tried to grab Derick from behind.
“Derick!” Vanessa saw what was
happening from inside.
“Stay inside! Stay inside!” Derick
was surprised at how raw his voice was, how much emotion it carried.
Though Cargo’s grip was strong, it
wasn’t locked, allowing Derick freedom enough to wriggle and drop. He shook
loose and sent a punch that landed right above Cargo’s right eye.
While both men were down, Derick
searched for Chlorine. The peculiar woman had remained at the foot of the
driveway. Derick took the opportunity to bolt inside. Vanessa was there to meet
him unclasping the dual doors and ushering him in. She reclasped the lock.
“Where’s my gun?” Derick thought he
had asked calmly but the words came out with a boom.
Vanessa’s face was tear soaked, and
puffy. “I couldn’t find it.”
Derick wanted to go search for himself,
but he also didn’t want to let the trio gain any more ground. He decided to stay
pit rather than look for the gun himself. Inside, he wrestled with the fact that
it might be the wrong decision, gulping it down like a horse pill.
“Go to the back bedroom; take your
phone and a grab the survival knife from the hall closet. It’s on the top shelf.”
Within Derick’s voice a sharp edge had cut through the calm, “Did you call the
police?”
She nodded. Vanessa was afraid to
look behind her. She hated herself for being afraid. Her mind already told her
what she would see. The three drugged out lunatics visible through the door’s
open floral cut pattern. Those tiny flower shapes, each no bigger than a dime,
would only provoke her fear. Those
decorative touches ran the full length of the door; it would be like there was
nothing keeping those people out, nothing at all. Vanessa tried to rationalize,
I should be afraid. Use the adrenaline. Be
safe. Help Derick. The thoughts came out in such a rapid succession that Vanessa
quickly realized she was barking orders at herself, in spite of her fear.
Meanwhile, Derick’s eyes went from
her to just beyond the aluminum door. Cargo Shorts was bull rushing it, hitting
it with everything he had. The right door was rattling on its hinges as kicks,
and shoulder checks began to mangle the soft metal.
“Go!” Derick shoved Vanessa
backwards to get her moving. She sobbed raggedly and retreated to the back of
the house. At a whisper Derick pleaded, “Keep looking for my gun!”
Derrick waited for Vanessa to get
clear and rushed to the kitchen. He eyed the cutlery holder that sat atop the counter.
The butcher knife was missing. The sound of some 250 pounds repeatedly
colliding with the cheap security door beat a frightening rhythm in his brain.
Frantic, he searched the sink to find nothing. Finally flinging the door to the
dishwasher open and seeing it resting in the top drawer.
Derick returned to the back door,
more confident, “Look I don’t want to hurt you.”
