Everything was going to be just fine. It was all good. It was all fine.
Flippy turned the steering wheel slowly, feeling the temperature in the car rising along with his heart beat. It pounded in his ears, making his chest heave and his lungs clench. Flippy hadn't felt like this in a long time, or, in fact, never before. It felt strange to him; having his heart exploding in his chest even though he didn't really know why. He was nervous, but about what? What was the worst that could happen? Why was he feeling high off adrenaline and frozen with nerves?
He eased to a stop at a stop light, taking a steady breath and keeping a shaky foot on the brake. Yes, everything was going to be fine.
Things went over pretty smoothly with Cuddles. Flippy knew there was no way he could work himself up to facing Splendid, so he took the alternative. She didn't ask any questions when he showed up at her house; just went inside and came back with a piece of paper, an address scribbled on it in black marker. She had smiled at him, reaching up to hug him before he turned to leave.
"I don't know what happened with you and Splendid," she had whispered, "but I won't tell him. And I expect you won't tell me anything I don't need to know."
Flippy had drawn back to look at her, surprised. Sometimes, just sometimes, Cuddles would do something he didn't expect. He realized, as she smiled with a bittersweet look in her eyes, that she was smarter than she let on. That was the only time he felt empathetic towards her or anyone else. He could completely relate to the feeling of blind faith.
The car roared as he eased onto the highway, accelerating to a speed far above the speed limit. It was getting dark, not many cars were out. The town was getting quiet and settling down, nightlights and streetlights following his trail like a swarm of fireflies. The air was warm and only slightly humid, a sweet smell of domestic living circulating through his air conditioner. It was all so peaceful, all so quiet and simple; and it was this fact that made Flippy's skin buzz and his ears perk up. The silence felt like laughter, just begging him to find a way to break it. If only he had words, and if only he didn't feel so confused. Really, what is it? Why had he gotten so worked up after just bumping into a stranger on the street, by coincidentally ending up with their phone? What about this girl, Flaky, was it that made his throat close up and his blood stop pumping? What about her made the soldier inside him shrivel up and leave him naked, bare, and defenseless? He remembered Splendid's words, as this was usually what his mind circled back to. He was incapable of love, he was so sure. But apparently Splendid didn't see it, proclaiming he was just following the current of infatuation. But Flippy hadn't even known he was riding the waves, he thought he was still sitting on the shore where nothing could touch him.
He was just fine, right?
He was still himself, right?
The piece of paper felt like lead in his lap. Cuddles' writing was sloppy, but he could still clearly make out the address: "1215 Meadowlark"
Meadowlark was out past his house, which made him feel even more uncomfortable. He knew the roads perfectly with a well written mental map etched into his brain, and anytime he closed his eyes he could see where he was, where he was going, and what he needed to do to get there. He had acquired this skill in the army, when he was so lost out in the wilderness he couldn't tell left from right, up from down. He had learned to see without necessarily using his eyes. He had developed a way to track his steps and feel out his location by just touch and instinct. And driving to Flaky's house felt dangerously close to instinct. He just hoped at the end of it all, he would find Flaky, and not the usual army of terrorists waiting to slice his neck at the other side.
It was just a little past seven when Flippy turned onto the dirt road, rocks crushing under the wheels and scattering in all directions. He looked at the house in front of him, taking in every last little detail.
It was one story, brick, and had a tiled roof. The windows were double paned, covered in blinds and outlined in white. A wooden porch wrapped around the front; a small table and some lawn chairs placed on it like a ransack dinner table. A blossoming blue hydrangea plant in a yellow pot sat next to the wooden front door, illuminated by the stream of light shining through the pained glass running down the middle. The lawn was healthy, a little wild, and a few decorated stones led up to the front porch, the grass curling and winding underneath.
The green mile, he thought grimly to himself.
A wind chime hanging from the gutters made a ghostly ringing sound in the silent breeze, sending chills down Flippy's spine. It was all so inviting, yet so incredibly off putting.
He drove up slowly, flicking off the headlights when he realized they would be shining right on the windows. For some reason, he felt like he was doing something he shouldn't be doing. Like he was breaking the law or standing too close to the edge. Like a child trying to sneak a cookie out of the cookie jar before dinner time. He felt out of place, disgustingly sly, almost criminal. If he knew what was good for him, he thought, he would just drop the phone at the door, ring the doorbell, and drive like hell and never come back. He turned the car off and stepped out onto the lawn.
The sound of distant cicadas enveloped him, darkness shielding his eyes. The moon was high above, partly waning, leaning towards the stars as they shined around it. It cast a shadow on Flippy's footsteps until he stepped into the light of the doorway, immediately feeling a change of temperature. It was warm, and sank into his clothing like a warm splash of water. His blood boiled with anxiety, and he reached into his pocket to squeeze the phone, as it had become a habit of his. When had it become like a security blanket? He came to a stop just before the welcome mat, whose bristles even looked strangely inviting.
And he stood there. He couldn't move for a moment, frozen in place. He had been forcing his body to move this whole time, and now he took the time to stop and contemplate where he was and what exactly he was doing. He looked around him, looked through himself, looked to the past and the future, looked to what he wanted to happen and what he feared would happen, both seeming very similar. It was no longer about the phone anymore; it hadn't been for a long time. It was about him and his ability to actually decide what he wants. All his life he'd been told what he wanted, been given only one option to choose above all the others. It was life or death, fight or flight. He was shedding the skin of the soldier and slipping on the clothes of a human being.
He flinched when he heard a noise from inside and a shadow crossed the window. It was now or never, he realized, maybe a bit too dramatically. It took him three tries, but he finally managed to steady his finger enough to ring the doorbell.
It took a total of three and a half minutes for Flaky to answer the door. In those three and a half minutes, Flippy had been squirming under the heat of his own skin and helplessly trying to moisten his dry mouth. He took a deep breath, and then the sound of a shaking key hole and an opening door frame made him start. There in front of him, in long pajama pants and a white robe stood Flaky. Her eyes were wide and brown, confused and curious, a little frightened looking as she focused her eyes on him. She looked much shorter now in her bare feet and mass of red hair pulled back into a bun. Flakes settled at her feet as she stilled. She wore a white tank top that hung off her shoulders, a purple headband that barely managed to keep the hair from her face. The inside looked to be bathed in warm colors, melting the coolness of the night they stood in.
And she was just as beautiful as she had been the first time Flippy had seen her.
Time froze, and they stood in silence. Not looking, but seeing.
Flaky didn't know anymore than Flippy what to think. A stranger here at her doorstep at 7 at night, a dark green jeep parked in her driveway? What could she possibly make of it, given the initial shock and the complete loss of any explanation? The two one time acquaintances looked into each other's eyes for the second time in their lives, each seeing what the other didn't know how to hide. Vulnerability and loneliness surrounded by an outward persona of apathy. Insecurity that only they could feel, worry only they could conjure up. It was all there, displayed perfectly in their eyes. Flippy saw two paths in front of him, one he had traveled each time and one barely used. Flaky saw something she wasn't used to seeing; someone showing her their real, raw insides, making her feel like the one judging. She realized very slowly she recognized the green hair and moss colored eyes. Flippy had no trouble remembering, and was only embracing the image like a refreshing breeze.
A wall stood between them now. Two strangers and the way they interact interspeckled with a strange attraction. A thin line connected their two hearts, somehow, and they both felt it clear and striking as day.
It was mystifying and terrifying. It was so broken and so complete. It was so confusing yet so crystal clear. All it took to shatter the wall between them was a small step forward, a raised arm that held a little pink cell phone, and a voice that said,
"I think you dropped this."